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ELLA WHEELER WILCOX 



THE WORLDS AND I 



BY 



ELLA WHEELER WILCOX 

OF "POEMS OF PASSION," "SON] 
SORROW AND TRIUMPH," ETC. 



AUTHOR OF "POEMS OF PASSION," "SONNETS OF 



ILLUSTRATED 




NEW Xar YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 






<-& 






Copyright, 1918, 
By George H. Doran Company 



Copyright, 1918, by International Magazine Company 
{Cosmopolitan Magazine) 



Printed in the United States of America 





DEC 


17 1918 


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G1.A5 


06909 





FOREWORD TO CRITICS AND CLERGYMEN 

BEFORE you express your opinion too loudly regarding 
the last chapters of this book, the author respectfully 
suggests that you read the following editorial which appeared 
in the "Harbinger of Light. ,, 

"Communication is possible, but one must obey the laws, 
first finding out the conditions. I do not say it is easy, but it 
is possible ; and I have conversed with my friends over yonder, 
just as I can converse with any one in this audience now." 

Sir Oliver Lodge. 

"Only a few weeks ago a Captain Chaplain drew a pathetic 
picture of the deaths of some of 'the boys' at the front and 
comforted his hearers with the inspiring assurance that 'they 
had passed painlessly into the night from which no mortal 
has ever returned !' He is evidently another of the clergy who 
'do not know/ As a matter of fact, the gallant souls re- 
ferred to did not pass into 'night' at all — either painlessly 
or painfully! They passed into the spiritual dawn, and as 
they gradually recovered consciousness the light around them 
increased, and, to their inexpressible joy, they eventually found 
themselves in an environment of translucent brightness. 
'Night,' indeed, for such self-sacrificing heroes! Then, again, 
what authority, apart from Shakespeare, has this 'spiritual 
guide* for the assertion that these departed warriors cannot 
return? His Bible certainly contradicts him. A battalion of 
old Israelitish fighters returned when Elisha was hard pressed 
by his foes, and if they could return in those times, why cannot 
our brave lads return to-day? 

"Samuel also returned and spoke to Saul; one of the old 
prophets returned and conversed with John ; and at the time of 
the Crucifixion the streets of Jerusalem were thronged with 



vi FOREWORD 

the so-called 'dead.' If these things could happen in the 
past, why cannot they happen in the present? Does God 
work by 'fits and starts,' or are His ways the same yester- 
day, to-day, and for ever? 

"But independent of all Scriptural testimony, we know, on 
the authority of modern-day scientists and millions of other 
witnesses, that the return of the departed is an indisputable 
fact, and that, as Sir Oliver Lodge points out, if the 'con- 
ditions' are provided, they can converse with us, as spiritual 
intelligences conversed with mortals in olden days. Thou- 
sands of 'the boys' who lost their physical bodies on the 
battlefield of this world-wide war have returned to their 
homes and talked with their parents and friends. And the re- 
union has been so real that 'the blinds have been pulled up/ 
and a flood of soul-uplifting sunshine has dissipated the clouds 
of gloom. These facts are now becoming common knowledge, 
and are being shared by 'all sorts and conditions of men'— 
the majority of the clergy excepted ! 

"To put the question to a clergyman who has no knowledge 
of the proofs of survival supplied by the evidence of 
psychical research, is tantamount to going to a butcher and 
asking him to solve a problem in electrical science ! What does 
a butcher know about electrical voltage or the principle upon 
which the voltameter is constructed ? And what does a clergy- 
man know of the change called death, and what happens 
afterwards, if he has neither investigated personally, nor 
studied the amazing evidence which demonstrates beyond cavil 
that the dead do return and do communicate ? In every other 
department of human inquiry, if we desire a solution of some 
abstruse problem, we instinctively consult an expert in the 
particular science or study -involved. And why should not 
the same principle be followed in seeking knowledge of human 
survival and the interblending of the spiritual and material 
worlds? We should go to those who know — not to those 
who do not know. 

"We would, therefore, advise all those who resort to their 
minister for information on the transcendent subject under 
discussion to ascertain the extent of his knowledge, and con- 



FOREWORD vii 

sequently his authority for the attitude he assumes. Let them 
ask him these questions: — 

"i — Are you familiar with the experiences and declarations 
of Sir Oliver Lodge, Sir William Crookes, Sir William 
Barrett, Dr. Alfred Russel Wallace, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, 
Professor Zollner, Professor Lombroso, Professor Richet, 
Professor Hyslop, Bishop Welldon, Archdeacon Wilberforce, 
Rev. Dr. Dearmer, Rev. Dr. F. Holme s-Duddon, Rev. Dr. 
Norman Maclean, Archdeacon Colley, Rev. F. Fielding-Ould, 
M. A., Rev. Arthur Chambers, Rev. Chas. L. Tweedale, F. R. 
G. S., and a multitude of other authoritative investigators? 

"2 — Have you ever sat with a well developed medium, or in 
any other way personally investigated what are known as 
psychic or Spiritualistic phenomena? If the replies to these 
questions are in the negative — and they certainly will be in 
nine cases out of ten — it may very safely be assumed that 
the clergyman does not possess the necessary qualifications for 
expressing any opinion whatever on the subject. He may, how- 
ever, express it all the same, but it should not be allowed to 
carry the slightest weight. 

"Surely no exception can be taken to these terms! They 
are based upon reason and common sense, and should be ac- 
cepted without demur." 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Little Days 17 

II First School Days and Early Pets 33 

III The Beginnings of Success 51 

IV "Maurine" and "Poems of Passion" 72 

V Two Amusing Near Romances 85 

VI The Compelling Lover 92 

VII Steps Up Spiritual Stairways 102 

VIII Life in Meriden 114 

IX New York 125 

X The Bungalow 138 

XI Little Efforts at Brotherhood 155 

XII Interesting People Met in New York 170 

XIII Lunatics I Have Known 180 

XIV A Royal Funeral 193 

XV Happy Memories of Well-known People .... 209 

XVI The Battlefield of Love 232 

XVII High Lights on Places and Personalities Seen in 

Travel 252 

XVIII On Historic Ground 266 

XIX Hawaiian Queens and the Sultan of Java .... 283 

XX Marriage Customs and Polygamy 300 

XXI People, Abroad and at Home 316 

XXII The Beginning of the End 337 

XXIII The Search of a Soul in Sorrow 346 

XXIV The Keeping of the Promise 361 

XXV From France 389 

Epilogue 413 

is 



THE WORLDS AND I 



THE WORLDS AND I 



CHAPTER I 

The Little Days 

1\>TY literary career was in a large measure begun before 
*-**• my birth through prenatal influences. 

The mother who wishes her unborn child to possess certain 
tastes, talents or qualities, cannot bring about the desired re- 
sult by merely thinking of it. Thought is only constructive 
when it is charged with intense feeling and emotion. Powder 
scattered lightly over a large surface does not project a bullet 
to the mark, but compressed into a small space and given the 
right impetus, the lead is sent to the bull's-eye. So, desultory 
thought is wasted, while focused thought creates that which 
it desires. The expectant mother whose thought is focused 
intensely in any special direction attracts to herself out of 
space the Ego awaiting reincarnation best calculated by its 
former lives to use her thought; and she impresses upon its 
embryo mind, in the important months which ensue, the na- 
ture of her wishes. 

My mother, always a devotee at the shrine of literature 
(and having in her own mind the seed of poetic fancy) found 
herself for the first time in her life with a large library at her 
command during the months preceding my advent. She com- 
mitted to memory whole cantos of Byron, Moore, and Scott, 
and mentally devoured the plays of Shakespeare, as well as 
various works of fiction. Curiously enough, she believed that 
the child she was carrying under her heart was to be a novelist. 
Always she spoke of me before my birth (so aunts and a 
grandmother as well as she have told me) as a daughter 
who was coming into her ripened life (I was the youngest 

17 



18 THE WORLDS AND I 

of four children) to carry out her own unrealized ambitions. 
"My child will be a girl," she said, "and she will be a writer; 
she will follow literature as a profession; she will begin young, 
and she will travel extensively and do all the things I have 
wanted to do and missed doing/' 

When, at the age of seven and some months, she found me 
printing on scraps of paper a story about the love of Mr. 
Larkspur for Miss Hollyhock, and the jealousy occasioned 
by a roving bee, she did not join in the surprise of other mem- 
bers of the family, but said, "I expected her to do these things." 
So my crude, early efforts met with encouragement from the 
start, and my ambitions were fired by my mother's often ex- 
pressed belief in my abilities. 

I think I did not differ from other small children in any 
particular, save, perhaps, in my lack of interest in dolls. All 
my dolls were carefully laid in a drawer until some doll-loving 
little visitor came, when they were produced. I wanted kit- 
tens or puppies for playthings, particularly kittens. Dolls 
were so cold and inanimate, kittens so warm and responsive. 
I have all my life found wonderful companionship in cats. 
Dogs, too, have been dear friends and comrades. The only 
doll which left any memory in my child life, was a crooked- 
necked yellow summer squash which I dressed up in a bit of 
lace and tied a string about its waist and called "Mary." I 
insisted that she strongly resembled a little blonde neighbor, 
Mary Hart by name. A few years afterward, my sister was 
amused because I saw a resemblance to this same Mary Hart 
in a shock of yellow wheat tied in the middle. Mary was 
very slim of waist and very golden in coloring. 

I believe I was rather an amiable child, yet I had very 
naughty spells when quite young. Visiting my grandmother 
and aunts at the age of three, I was (unwisely) allowed 
to sit at the table with my elders and partake of all the 
goodies under which the table groaned. When pie time 
came, I grew obstreperous, because hot mince pie, not cold, 
was served. I kept shrieking, "I want a piece of cold mince 
pie !" My mother wished to take me away from the table, but 



THE LITTLE DAYS 19 

Aunt Abigail said, 'The poor little dear must have what she 
wants." So she hurried to the kitchen and cooled a piece of 
pie by holding it in a pan of cold water. When she returned, 
I was kicking my heels on the floor, screaming lustily, 
and, refusing the cold mince pie, I declared I wanted my pie 
hot! My mother applied a hot hand instead. In all my 
mother's life afterward, whenever I expressed an intense 
desire in her hearing, she would say: "Oh, yes, I know, 
you want a piece of cold mince pie." 

Another droll little story was told me about myself be- 
tween the ages of two and three. A small boy, named Eddie, 
came to call with his mother, who said she thought Eddie 
and Ella would make good playmates. I looked at the boy 
intently for a moment, ran into the kitchen, and reappeared 
with a tin wash-dish and a rag in my hand. My mother in 
amazement asked me what I was doing. I replied, "I am 
going to wash Eddie's face before I play with him. ,, When, 
in later life, I showed an impulse to try and improve people 
physically, mentally, or morally, without any requests on their 
part, I was reminded of this early incident. In the country 
neighborhood, I was recognized, from the age of eight to 
fourteen, as a child prodigy, and my teachers gave me praise, 
far in excess of my merits, as I recall those early efforts in 
prose and verse. I loved to give my imagination full sway, 
and "Composition Day," the dread of most children, was to 
me a delight. Two of my teachers instituted a monthly 
school-magazine (made of sheets of note-paper fastened by 
a ribbon) to which the scholars contributed. My effusions 
were prominent under my own name and several pen-names. 
Various narratives, essays, verses, and a special line of conun- 
drums and little jokes about my schoolmates, appeared in each 
number of the magazine. Before this, however, I had 
finished, at the age of nine, a novel whose title page read 
as follows: 

Minnie Tighthand and Mrs. Dunley 

A True Story 

By Ella Wheeler 



20 THE WORLDS AND I 

The novel contained ten chapters; and was "bound" in 
paper torn off the kitchen wall. The first four chapters were 
headed by lines of original verse. This, my maiden effort in 
verse, described the heroine — 

A head covered with pretty curls ; 

A face white as the snow, 
Her teeth are like handsome pearls; 

She's tall and stately too. 

Mrs. Grant, the "woman villain" of the story, was described 
as "Neither handsome nor pretty, but always fretty." 

Under the sub-title of "A Death," in one chapter the fol- 
lowing couplet appears: 

Death came down so stilly 
So softly, so chilly. 

After the fourth chapter was finished, the family dis- 
covered my occupation and the reason for my continual re- 
quests for scraps of paper. An older brother, then man- 
grown, hearing my story and verses, volunteered the informa- 
tion that novelists never wrote the verses which headed their 
chapters, but selected them from the works of a poet. I 
distinctly recall my mental depreciation of novelists, and an 
accompanying augmentation of respect for poets, after my 
brother's statement. I permitted the remaining chapters to 
go into my book without couplets. 

The next verses which I recall were composed for the 
school-magazine and were of a somewhat personal character. 
A little girl living just across the road from my home was 
named Ophelia Cramer. Down the road, on the way to the 
school, lived Homer Benson, who chanced, that summer, to 
be the chosen cavalier of Ophelia, always waiting for her 
before he went to school and walking on her side of the road 
as we returned home. Naturally, they were subjected to 
much teasing from other children. In my own home, an 
aged and toothless dog was fed on a corn-meal diet, which 
my mother prepared for his sustenance. To the school- 
magazine I contributed the following classic stanza : 



THE LITTLE DAYS 21 

"An old dog's bread is made of meal," 
Said Homer Benson to his Ophel. 

"I know it, love," she said, with a sigh, 
"And if they did not eat it, they'd surely die." 

From that early stage onward, through my teens, my 
literary proclivities and mental powers were influenced by 
reading the New York Mercury, New York Ledger, Waverly, 
Peterson, Godey, and Demaresfs Magazine, and novels of 
Ouida, Mary J. Holmes, and Mrs. Southworth. This emo- 
tional literature naturally had its influence upon my imagina- 
tion, and caused me to live in a world quite apart from that 
of my commonplace farm* environment, where the post-office 
was five miles distant, mail came only two or three times a 
week, and the call of a neighbor was an event. Instead of 
this life, I was mentally living in enchanted realms, sur- 
rounded with luxury and beauty, and enjoying the romantic 
adventures of the heroines of fascinating fiction. I think I 
was nine years old when I saw my first editor. 

He came from Madison with a railroad official to ask for 
subscriptions for some proposed new line of railroad. He 
came in a "covered carriage" — my idea of elegance and 
wealth, as I rarely saw anything better than lumber-wagons 
or runabouts. I came from school, a long mile walk, on a hot 
summer afternoon, tired and curious to know who was within. 
As I entered the room, some member of the family presented 
me, and the editor took me on his knee. 

"You look as delicate as a city girl," he said. "You ought 
to be more robust, living in this fine country air." Editors 
have said many kind things of me since then, but nothing 
which ever gave me such a sense of being a superior being 
as that. To look like a city girl — what joy! Yet I had 
never seen a city girl then, I am sure. 

During my fourteenth year, the New York Mercury, which 
had been sent us by Aunt Abigail, living near Jamesville, 
Wisconsin, ceased to come. Aunt Abigail no longer sub- 
scribed for it. I missed its weekly visits with an intensity 
scarcely to be understood by one who has not known the same 



22 THE WORLDS AND I 

lonely surroundings and possessed the same temperament. 
There was not money enough floating around in those times 
to permit a subscription to the Mercury, and if I were to pos- 
sess it, I knew I must either obtain a long list of subscribers, 
which would be a difficult and laborious undertaking, or earn 
it by my pen. I resolved to try the latter, but, fearing failure, 
I did not want the family to know of my attempt. Finally, 
I decided on a stratagem. I was corresponding with a young 
girl, several years my senior, who was in the freshman class 
at Madison University. 

I confided in her and enclosed the Mercury letter. Jean 
posted my letter and watched the news-stand for results. Two 
months later, long after I had relinquished all hope, she wrote 
me that my essays had appeared. Whereupon, I wrote a 
stern reproof to the editor for not sending the paper, "at 
least, as pay for my work/' if he could afford no other re- 
muneration! Shortly afterward a large package of back 
numbers of the New York Mercury came addressed to me 
through the country post-office. Now, even at that early age, 
I had an admirer, naturally disapproved of by the family. 
When the enormous roll of newspapers, direct from the 
editor's office, came to me, a stern member of the household 
at once concluded that the would-be "beau" had subscribed to 
win new favor in my eyes. This accusation was made before 
I was questioned on the subject. Perhaps the most triumphant 
and dramatic hour of my life was when I stepped forth, in 
short skirts and long ringlets, and announced to the family 
that not my admirer, but my "literary work," had procured the 
coveted Mercury for our united enjoyment. 

In later years, I frequently heard of statements made by 
various unknown individuals who claimed to have "dis- 
covered" me and to have given my first efforts the light of 
day, but the advent of my muse into prose was also through 
the medium of the Mercury and wholly through my own 
efforts. The prose essays were published under the name of 
"Eloine," and immediately after their appearance I sent, under 
the same name, an ambitious poetical effort describing a 
highly emotional experience, to the editor of the "Ladies' 



THE LITTLE DAYS 23 

Promenade" column. The verses appeared anonymously with 
a half-column of sarcastic ridicule by the editor, which he 
closed by saying that the author of the lines so crucified was 
able to write very acceptably in prose, and he trusted she 
would "never again attempt poetical expression." Humiliated 
and crushed, but only temporarily, I rose to new attempts, 
and my first published verses appeared under my own name, 
in the Waverly Magazine, shortly afterward. Three short 
poems sent to Frank Leslie's publishing house brought me a 
check for ten dollars. This aroused in me such ambitions, 
that I proceeded to the nearest book store, twelve miles distant 
(riding to town on a high spring seat beside my brother in 
a lumber- wagon filled with bags of wheat for market), and 
there I wrote down the addresses of a dozen magazines and 
weeklies and began to bombard them with my effusions. Hav- 
ing had my first manuscripts published (even though one had 
been riddled by ridicule), I believed that the path to literary 
attainment was a flowery one; but at the end of the next three 
months I had become so accustomed to the "respectfully 
declined" note from various editors that a check for forty 
dollars, which was finally sent me by Frank Leslie's house, 
proved almost a nervous shock. 

To possess such a sum of money all at once was a wonder- 
ful and inspiring experience, and it set my brain afire with 
new fancies. Many of the poems appeared in the Leslie and 
Harper publications without my name attached, as was the 
custom in those days, and I at once proceeded to send them, 
properly autographed, to country newspapers in Wisconsin. 
This led some of the editors no doubt to the belief that they 
had "discovered" and launched me, while in truth my verses 
had previously been published and paid for by New York and 
Boston editors. 

Until I began to earn money, the neighbors had criticised 
my mother for keeping me out of the kitchen and allowing me 
to "scribble" so much. But when they found me able, with 
one day's work at my desk, to hire an assistant in the house 
for a month they began to respect my talent. 

I wish the scores of grown men and women who write to 



24 THE WORLDS AND I 

me for "aid and influence" in getting into print could know 
just how I found my way into the favor of editors. It was 
by sheer persistence. It never occurred to me to ask advice 
or assistance of others. I am glad it did not, for the moment 
we lean upon any one but the Divine Power and the divinity 
within us, we lessen our chances of success. I often receive 
letters now from writers in the West, asking me to use my 
influence with editors in their behalf and saying, "You must 
realize from your own early struggles how impossible it is 
to get a start in an Eastern periodical without a friend at 
court." No more absurd idea ever existed. Eastern editors 
are on the lookout for new talent constantly, and if a writer 
possesses it, together with persistence, he will succeed whether 
he lives in the Western desert or in the metropolis, and without 
any friend at court. All such literary aspirants are requested 
to read these pages and learn how I found my "friend at 
court" — the will in my own soul, and the patient and persistent 
effort of mind and heart and hand. Miles from a post-office, 
more miles from a railroad, and far from any literary center, 
without one acquaintance who knew anything about literary 
methods or the way to approach an editor, I pounded away 
at the doors of their citadels with my childish fist until they 
opened to me. 

I recently came across a curious set of little home-made 
books where I kept my accounts long ago — a page for the 
poems sent to Frank Leslie's, another to Harper's Bazar and 
Weekly, another to Demaresfs, and so on through the list ; and 
then the various journeyings of a poem, eight, nine, ten times 
to New York or Boston and back again before it folded its 
wings and rested in some editor's nest of "accepted manu- 
scripts." I am sure I made many blunders and wrote much 
trash, and when advice was volunteered I did not value it as 
highly as I should. I felt I alone must make my climb toward 
the heights I sought, and no one could "boost" me up. 

I soon filled the house with all the periodicals we had time 
to read, and in addition the editors sent me books and pictures 
and bric-a-brac and tableware — articles from their prize-lists, 
which were more precious than gems would have been to me. 



THE LITTLE DAYS 2$ 

They served to relieve the bare and commonplace aspect of 
the home, and the happiness I felt in earning these things with 
my pen is beyond words to describe. 

About the time I appeared in print, I left the country 
school. My record there had been wretched in mathematics, 
while excellent in grammar, spelling, and reading. I lost in- 
terest in study, and my mind would not focus itself upon 
books. I lived in a world of imagination, and pictured for 
myself a wonderful future. In this I was encouraged at 
home by the ambitions of my mother, who despised her life 
and felt herself and her family superior to all her associates, 
and was forever assuring me (and them as well!) that my 
future would be wholly apart from my early companions. 

Fortunately for me and for all concerned, I was a healthy 
and normal young animal, fond of my comrades, and enjoying 
their sports, into which I entered with zest, despite my mental 
aspirations and literary tendencies. But feeling I must re- 
ceive a better education, the family made great sacrifices to 
send me to Madison University. 

I was not happy there; first, because I knew the strain it 
put upon the home purse; second, because I felt the gulf be- 
tween myself and the town girls, whose gowns and privileges 
revealed to me, for the first time, the different classes in 
American social life ; and third, because I wanted to write and 
did not want to study. I had lost all taste for schoolbooks. 

On composition-day, I undertook to distinguish myself by 
writing a "narrative/' as the class was requested, but my 
ardent love-story only called forth a kind rebuke from gentle 
Miss Ware, and I was told to avoid reading the New York 
Ledger. 

After one term, I begged my mother to allow me to remain 
at home and write, and she wisely consented. I took to my 
profession with a new ardor and enthusiasm after that. 

My world grew larger with each sunrise, it seemed to me. 
People from Madison, Milwaukee, and Chicago began to 
write to me and seek me out. I was invited to visit city 
homes, and while this was a delight bordering on ecstasy and 
a relief from the depressing atmosphere of home anxieties, it 



26 THE WORLDS AND I 

yet brought with it the consciousness of the world's demands, 
which, added to those of duty and necessity, made a larger 
income imperative. 

There was continual worry at home. No one was resigned 
or philosophical. My mother hated her hard-working lot, for 
which she was totally unfitted, and constantly rebelled against 
it like a caged animal beating against iron bars, while she did 
her distasteful tasks with a Spartanlike adherence to duty, 
doubting the dominance of an all-wise Ruler who could 
condemn her to such a lot. Like thousands of others in the 
world, she had not learned that through love and faith only 
do conditions change for the better. The home was pervaded 
by an atmosphere of discontent and fatigue and irritability. 

From reincarnated sources and through prenatal causes, I 
was born with unquenchable hope and unfaltering faith in 
God and guardian spirits. I often wept myself to sleep after 
a day of disappointments and worries, but woke in the morn- 
ing singing aloud with the joy of life. I always expected 
wonderful things to happen to me. In some of the hardest 
days, when everything went wrong with everybody at home 
and all my manuscripts came back for six weeks at a time 
without one acceptance, I recall looking out of my little north 
window upon the lonely road bordered with lonelier Lombardy 
poplars, and thinking, "Before night something beautiful will 
happen to change everything." There was so much I wanted ! 
I wanted to bestow comfort, ease and pleasure on everybody 
at home. I wanted lovely gowns — ah, how I wanted them! 
and travel and accomplishments. I wanted summers by the 
sea — the sea which I had read of but had never seen — and on 
moonlight nights these longings grew so aggressive I often 
pinned the curtain down and shut out the rays that seemed to 
intensify my loneliness, and I would creep into my little 
couch under the sloping eaves, musing, "Another beautiful 
night of youth wasted and lost." And I would awaken happy 
in spite of myself and put all my previous melancholy into 
verses — and dollars. 

Once I read a sentence which became a life motto to me: 
"If you haven't what you like, try to like what you have." 



THE LITTLE DAYS 27 

I bless the author of that phrase — it was such a help to me 
just as I was nearing the borders of the family pessimism and 
chronic discontent. I tried from that hour to find something 
I liked and enjoyed in each day — something I could be thank- 
ful for ; and I found much, though troubles increased and con- 
ditions did not improve about me. 

Slowly, so slowly, it seemed to me, my work and my in- 
come increased. I longed for sudden success, for sudden 
wealth. It was so hard to wait — there was so much to be 
done. There was a gentle hill south of the house; often on 
summer evenings, after writing all day, I climbed this ascent 
at sunset and looked eastward, wondering what lay for me 
beyond the horizon. I always had the idea that my future 
would be associated with the far West, yet it was to the East 
I invariably looked. My knowledge of the East was bounded 
by Milwaukee — the goal of happy visits two or three times 
a year. 

Sometimes I walked through the pasture and young woods 
a half-mile, to call on Emma, the one friend who knew and 
sympathized with all the family troubles. And Emma would 
walk back with me, and we would wonder how many years 
longer these walks and talks would continue for us. I would 
tell her of my successes in my work, and she and her gentle 
mother rejoiced in them as if they were their own personal 
triumphs. Such restful walks and talks they always were! 

Looking backward, I recall few mornings when I did not 
greet the day with a certain degree of exhilarating expectancy. 
Even in times of trouble and sorrow, this peculiar quality of 
mind helped me over obstacles to happiness which, retrospec- 
tively viewed, seemed insurmountable. A peculiar spiritual 
egotism possibly it might be called, for it led me to look for 
special dispensations of Providence in my behalf, and a set- 
ting-aside of nature's seeming laws and regulations, as well 
as the violating of reason's codes, that I might be obliged. 

Facing the deadly monotony of the commonplace, I always 
looked for the unusual and romantic to occur. Environed by 
the need of petty economies, I always expected sudden opu- 
lence. Far from the world's center of life and action, I felt 



28 THE WORLDS AND I 

that hosts of rare souls were approaching, and, while hungry 
in heart and brain, I believed that splendid banquets were in 
preparation for me. What would otherwise have been lonely, 
troubled, and difficult years were made enjoyable by this 
exalted state of the imagination. 

Such concentration of expectancy, of course, brought some 
degree of result. Unusual things did happen, and that same 
virile, vivid imagination magnified them and made them seem 
colossal confirmation of my hopes. The commonplace 
meadows blossomed with flowers of beauty, and buttercups 
and daisies looked to me like rare orchids and hothouse roses. 
Between what really happened, and what I continually ex- 
pected to happen, the world widened, existence grew in inter- 
est, and earth palpitated with new experience as the years 
passed. Always I expected more and more of life, and always 
it came in some guise. 

Everything was material to me in those days; — the wind, 
the bees, the birds, and every word dropped by my elders in 
conversation which had a possible romantic trend, and all that 
I read in my favorite sensational novels proved fuel for my 
fire of ambition. Like most young poets, I sang more in the 
minor key than the major. The first poem which I con- 
sidered of sufficient merit to copy in a manuscript book and 
which brought me four of the ten dollars of my first check 
was entitled "Two Lives" : 

An infant lies in her cradle bed ; 

The hands of sleep on her eyelids fall. 
The moments pass with a noiseless tread, 

And the clock on the mantel counts them all. 
The infant wakes with a wailing cry, 
And she does not heed how her life drifts by. 

A child is sporting in careless play ; 

She rivals the birds with her mellow song. 
The clock unheeded ticks away, 

And counts the moments that drift along. 
And she does not heed how her life drifts by. 
But the child is chasing the butterfly, 



THE LITTLE DAYS 29 

A maiden stands at her lover's side 

In the tender light of the setting sun. 
Onward and onward the moments glide. 

And the old clock counts them one by one. 
But the maiden's bridal is drawing nigh, 
And she does not heed how her life drifts by. 

A song of her youth the matron sings, 
And dreameth a dream ; and her eye is wet. 

And backward and forward the pendulum swings 
In the clock that never has rested yet. 

And the matron smothers a half-drawn sigh 

As she thinks how her life is drifting by. 

An old crone sits in her easy chair ; 

Her head is dropped on her aged breast. 
The clock on the mantel ticketh there, 

The clock that is longing now for rest. 
And the old crone smiles as the moments fly 
And thinks how her life is drifting by. 

A shrouded form in a coffin-bed, 

A waiting grave in the fallow ground ; 

The moments pass with their noiseless tread, 
But the clock on the mantel makes no sound. 

The lives of the two have gone for aye 

And they do not heed how the time drifts by. 

A clock always possessed a subtle charm for me and almost 
human qualities of companionship; and I can recall the sense 
of loneliness that came over me when, on rare occasions, our 
clock ran down — or was temporarily out of order. 

Ofttimes I wrote four or five bits of verse (I called them 
"poems" then) in a day. Once I wrote eight. Unless I 
wrote two in twenty-four hours, I felt the day was lost. 
I received from three to five dollars for each poem accepted, 
and those that failed to bring me money served to supply me 
with weekly or monthly periodicals, and also with more ma- 
terial things. At my suggestion, articles from the prize-list 
of objects given by editors to those who secured subscribers 
were sent in payment for my verses (those which had failed 
to bring me money from other editors). A curious incident 
occurred in connection with this. I had accepted a half-dozen 



3 o THE WORLDS AND I 

silver forks from one editor, and many years afterward — in 
fact, several years subsequent to my marriage — I discovered 
that the forks were manufactured by the firm with which my 
husband was associated the greater part of his business life. 

The subjects which I covered in this outpouring of early 
fancies were quite varied as will be seen by the following 
selections of verses written in one week, while still in my 
teens. 

GOD'S MAJESTY 

I look upon the budding tree ; 

I watch its leaves expand; 
And through it all, O God, I see, 

The marvel of Thy hand. 
And all my soul in worship sings, 

praise the Lord, the King of Kings ! 

1 look upon this mortal frame 
So wonderfully made ; 

I note each perfect vein and nerve 

And I am sore afraid ; 
I tremble, God, at thought of Thee 
So awful in Thy Majesty. 

I look upon the mighty sun, 

Upon the humble flower; 
In both, O great and heavenly One, 

I read Thy wondrous power; 
And in an ecstasy I raise 
A song of thankfulness and praise. 

I look upon the lightnings flash ; 

I see the rain drops fall ; 
I listen to the thunders crash, 

And find Thee in it all ; 
In earth and sky, and sea and air, 
Thou, O my God, art everywhere. 

DEPARTED 

Love reigned King in my heart one day, 

Reigned with his courtiers three — 
Belief unspoken, Trust unbroken, 

And Faith as deep as the sea. 



THE LITTLE DAYS 31 

And I cried in sweet pain, "Oh long may they reign, 
And my heart be their kingdom alway." 

But the Courtier's Belief slipped down from his throne 

And died at the feet of King Love. 
I saw him falling, all vainly calling 

To the King and the Courtiers above. 
And he struggled with death and he labored for breath, 
Till he died with a heart-broken moan. 

"But the King and his two noble courtiers still reign, 

And shall reign forever," I said ; 
But lo, on the morrow, I wept in keen sorrow, 

For Trust in his beauty lay dead. 
And I buried him low, and I said, "Now I know 
How to value the two who remain." 

But Faith drooped and died ; and Love sat alone, 
And he pined for the ones who were dead; 

A king without reason he reigned for a season 
But his strength and his glory had fled. 

And no pain stirred my breast and I said, "It is best," 

When he tottered and fell from his throne. 



HEART'S EASE 

Give me work for my hands to do, 

Whenever I have a grief ; 
There's no other balm so good I ween 

For a wounded Heart's relief. 

And give me something to think about, 

Something beside my pain; 
And let me labor throughout the day 

With a busy hand and brain. 

From the flush of morn till the gloom of night 

With never a time to weep ; 
And then in the gloaming let me turn 

Like a weary child to sleep. 

As I read over the scores, yes, hundreds of these verses, 
written those first years of my literary career, and note the 
memorandum above them, stating the prices received and in 



32 THE WORLDS AND I 

many of them the periodicals wherein they appeared, I realize 
how much more exacting to-day are the requirements of all 
editors. Small as were the prices paid me (varying from 
three to fifteen dollars), I am sure no young writer to-day 
could sell so many verses of this type for any price. Literary 
standards are higher, and literary tastes of readers more cul- 
tivated. But at that time I was fortunate in finding editors 
who liked just what I was able to supply, and when urged by 
older people of larger culture to try historical themes my 
first effort in that line met with ignominious rejection; and 
the last of the editors to reject them said, "Give us heart- 
wails; — that is what our readers like; they can read history in 
books." 



CHAPTER II 
First School Days and Early Pets 

MY first day at school was when I was less than seven, I 
think. I know it was only a temporary schoolhouse, half 
a mile away. I cried to go, and was allowed to accompany 
the older children of the neighborhood and my brother. I re- 
call the fact that it was the summer season, because the noon 
school dinner-pail contained strawberry shortcake. I asked 
at recess for my part of the shortcake : instead of waiting till 
noon, I ate it and then ran home. 

Later, there was the other schoolhouse a mile distant from 
my home: a short mile, I think; yet we called it that. In 
the winter it often seemed a long mile. But when the drifts 
were higher than the fences, and hard and firm, there used to 
be an exhilaration in racing over them to school. Sometimes 
when the big storms came and the roads were badly drifted, 
there was excitement in seeing the neighbors and our own men 
and horses turn out plowing the road to school ; and then, too, 
many times in very inclement weather, neighbors took turns 
in carrying the children. The Howies, the Harts, the Hol- 
dens, the McGinnises, all lived west of us, and when they 
came along, I could ride with them. But the roads needed 
to be very bad when we felt we could not walk. Those walks 
no doubt helped to develop the very robust health and great 
vitality I have always enjoyed. 

Two early summers of schoolgoing were shadowed by a 
curious fear of earthquakes which assailed me. I think there 
must have been somewhere an earthquake, which had been 
talked of by the family — very likely at the extreme ends of 
the earth. But it impressed my imaginative mind, and when 
the summer sun baked the black soil in Wisconsin and cracked 

33 



34 THE WORLDS AND I 

it open in places, I suffered untold agonies as I walked home 
from school, feeling great pity for the laughing children be- 
side me, who were going, all unsuspectingly, to their doom. 
I would think of this as I went to my little bed under the eaves, 
never expecting to see the dawn. The second summer this fear 
seized me, I told my mother about it, and was assured by her 
that we lived in a place where no such calamities occurred. 
So positive was she that the fear left me forever. When I 
did participate in a real earthquake, long afterward, in the 
island of St. Kitts, it came upon me without warning and 
was over just as I realized what it was. Although I had half 
a night of justified expectation of other quakes to follow, I 
did not experience in that half-night a hundredth part of the 
terror of those hours of my childhood. 

When I was very small, I used to "play horse" a great 
deal. After I was married and went back West on a 
visit wearing my best clothes and feeling myself a very dig- 
nified matron, an old farmer, Mr. Coolidge, came to call. 
He said to me, "Elly" (the old farmers always called me that), 
"do you know what you were doing the first time I ever 
saw you?" 

"No; tell me," I answered. 

"Well," replied Mr. Coolidge, "you were four years old; 
and your brother Ed was driving you about the yard with a 
pair of lines over your neck, and he was using a whip on you 
and yelling at the top of his voice, 'Gol darn it, why don't 
you whinny louder ?' " 

One of the things which linger in my memory like an old 
fragrance in the air, is "Mrs. Elliott's Spring." An English 
lady lived half a mile through a pasture, where the creek ran ; 
and at the foot of a hill there was this ever-flowing clear cold 
spring of water, about which peppermint grew in a thick 
border. It used to be the delight of the school children when 
two of them were chosen by the teacher to take the school 
pail, and go to "The Spring" and fill it. We always picked 
bunches of peppermint to bring away with us. Mrs. Elliott 
had a mildly insane son, who lent a touch of the dramatic to 
these trips. He walked all day in a circle, talking to himself 



FIRST SCHOOL DAYS AND EARLY PETS 35 

and smiling, and paying very little heed to any one. His 
circle was a beaten path, such as horses make on a threshing 
machine. His mother said he had overstudied; and others 
said he had been crossed in love. The house was quite apart 
from the spring; and we did not see "Crazy John" unless 
we made an effort. When we wanted a real thrill to change 
the monotony of life, we ran up, and took a look at the sad 
yet smiling lunatic. 

A touch of the dramatic was added one summer by another 
John: "Big John", who came to live in a house near the school. 
It was built by a Norwegian, and the lower part was dug into 
a hill; and above this basement rose a whitewashed cabin. 
I had read stories even then of robbers' caves, and this house 
from the first gave me creepy feelings. When Big John 
occupied it, I am sure we school children were the first aggres- 
sors. I am certain we made faces at him or teased him in 
ways known only to children. I know my parents were neg- 
lectful as are nine-tenths of American parents, in giving 
their children that education of the heart which makes them 
courteous and thoughtful toward all lesser creatures. My 
family had that New England prejudice toward "foreigners" 
which springs from a curious provincial American conceit: 
and we, like all American children, grew up thinking we were 
made of finer clay than the children who sprang from Irish, 
Scandinavian, or, in fact, any blood save "American." So 
looking back, I am quite sure Big John was more sinned 
against than sinning, when he chased the school children as 
we passed his "dug-out," and hooted at us until our parents 
had him arrested as a nuisance, and a menace to the peace. 

I had as a child very white hands, and very red cheeks; 
and after one of the times when Big John pursued us, Homer 
Benson said to me, "My! but you were scared, Elly! Your 
cheeks got as white as your hands." 

The arrest of Big John made a decided commotion in the 
neighborhood. I was called as one of the witnesses; and the 
trial took place in the school house in the district where the 
Justice of the Peace, Bill Wilson, lived. A Justice of the 
Peace was my idea of a great man. Bill Wilson was a large 



36 THE WORLDS AND I 

man, with a heavy voice, and helped along my impression of 
an awe-inspiring official. Now I had read some story, I 
think by Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, where a girl is called 
to the witness stand and saves the life of someone condemned 
to death, by her dramatic testimony and her striking person- 
ality. 

With this in my mind, I lay awake the night before I 
was to be a witness at the trial of Big John, and tried to 
rehearse my part. Albeit I knew the size of the room in the 
school house, I visualized a large auditorium, with stately 
steps leading up to a rostrum. I saw myself ascending this 
stairway, and I felt the large audience was holding its breath 
as I moved along. I knew I would wear a little shawl which 
was my "Sunday best" ; and I wondered whether I had better 
drape it over my shoulders at first, and then let it carelessly 
trail down, as I stood before the Justice, or whether it would 
be more effective if I let it trail first, and then drew it up 
with a "queenly gesture" as I began my impassioned testi- 
mony. I do not remember how I decided. I only remember 
feeling how small and inferior the school room looked, as I 
entered that next evening and how dreadfully near me, only 
over the aisle, was the Justice. When he called my name, I 
started to cross the aisle and stumbled: forgetting all about 
my shawl and my queenly gestures. When I stood before the 
Justice, very red and frightened, he bellowed, "Well, Elly 
Wheeler, what do you know of this man's actions?" Trem- 
blingly I began: "I think — I think," and again the Justice 
bellowed — "I don't want to hear what you think; I want to 
hear what you know." The remainder of the case is for- 
gotten now. I only recall my broken dream of a great hour, 
and a sense of depression, as I rode home. I am sure the case 
was decided against Big John, for he never troubled us again, 
to my recollection. 

I believe my teachers, as a rule, were fond of me. But I 
know I was very mischievous and disagreeable one winter. 
I played all sorts of pranks on a good old man who came to 
take charge of the school and who had no idea of system or 
order. I feel tears in my heart to this day when I remember 



FIRST SCHOOL DAYS AND EARLY PETS 37 

it My shame and remorse awoke when the good old man 
came to our house to "board a week" and talked continually 
to my mother of the wonderful gift he thought I possessed 
in composition, while never a word of complaint was made 
about my bad conduct. The coals of fire burned deeply into 
my head and heart. And they burn to this day. I can still 
see the uncouth old man sitting tilted against the kitchen wall 
with his feet on the rung of the chair, and his knees high 
in the air (he was very long of limb), talking to my handsome 
mother while she prepared the dinner, and telling her what 
a wonderful child I was in his estimation; for, in my heart, 
I knew he should have said, "Madam, that little brat of yours 
has made me more trouble at school than all the other 
children.' ' 

To be overpraised has always been more painful to me 
than to be undervalued, and, that day, I experienced my 
first mortification of this kind. I ran out into the yard, I 
remember, to escape hearing his eulogies. 

My father never took the reins of government over us. He 
left that to mother. Once only have I any recollection of 
being chastised by my father. 

I was less than six — not over five, I am sure. I had been 
disappointed in something, and I began to cry. My mother 
paid no attention. I went into the front room where my father 
was talking with a neighbor, and I lay down on the floor and 
kicked my heels against the wall just beside the stairway 
that led to the upper rooms. I believe I could point to the 
exact spot to-day, so memorable was made that moment by 
what followed. 

My father rose from his chair, and still continuing his 
conversation with the neighbor, came over and delivered four 
rousing slaps on that part of my anatomy which was upper- 
most at that moment. Then, without addressing a word to 
me, he resumed his seat and his conversation. I was so 
astonished that I rose to a proper position and state of mind 
at once. 

This, I think, was the end of my very naughty habit of 
lying down on the floor and kicking when displeased. My 



38 THE WORLDS AND I 

older brother used to sing a school-song when I did this. He 
would look at me and begin to sing the refrain, which in olden 
days they employed to memorize the state capitals. He sang 
always for me as I kicked my legs in the air, 

Upper California, Upper California, the capital is Monterey. 

And yet my elders tell me I was really a very amiable child! 

I loved cats with a tender passion. My mother was kind to 
animals, but she thought their place was outdoors or in the 
barn. My older brother also loved cats, but my sister was 
peculiarly affected by the sight of one. She became violently 
nauseated if a cat approached her. 

My brother Marcus, as well as my father and brother Ed, 
had just one bad habit. They used needlessly strong language 
when moved by great emotions. When they took the name 
of the Creator in vain, it always hurt me like a blow in the 
face. They were such good men and such brainy men, and 
this seemed a blight on their otherwise noble characters. It 
was a mere habit but a bad habit. 

Once, my brother Marcus wanted some cats he loved to 
come indoors in stormy weather. My mother objected, and 
I remember what my brother said. He said, "When I have 
a home of my own, I will have a hell full of cats." 
Well, he married an angel, an American-French girl, — sweet 
Lois ; and she let him have all the cats about he wanted. But 
it was a heaven full, not a hell. For she made home heaven. 

I somehow induced mother to let me have my pet cat in 
the house daytimes, but it was always put out at night. 
Mother had a habit of picking the cat up any sort of way and 
tossing it out in the yard, when bedtime came. She told me 
of a plea I made to her when quite small which impressed her 
greatly. I ran after her as she went to the door with the 
cat and I caught her skirts and cried, "Mother, put him out 
a-walking; put him out a- walking." All through later life 
mother quoted this to me when I suggested gentler methods of 
doing anything. 

I was fond of little calves and colts and chickens 
which came on the farm. One event stands out clearly. One 



FIRST SCHOOL DAYS AND EARLY PETS 39 

morning my brother Marcus came to my bed and woke me 
gently, and, bundling me up, carried me out to see a new 
colt before breakfast and before Ed saw it. There was a little 
lady calf which allowed me to sit beside her and pretend to 
milk her, while my brother filled my little wooden school-pail 
with milk from his large tin pail; and, later, the family was 
quite astonished to find I really knew how to milk a cow. But 
my mother never allowed me to do this, save on a few rare 
occasions when the men were driven with work. She hated 
outdoor work for women. And she said my hands would be 
spoiled — my hands which were her pride and delight — assur- 
ing me that some day I was to dwell among people who would 
appreciate beautiful, well-kept hands. Never did mother lose 
sight of her ideals for me. There was a wonderful chicken 
which became my pet when I was of chicken-pox age. I 
had taken care of the mother hen while she sat on twelve 
eggs, feeding her and watering her with care. When I heard 
the first peep of chickens, I was thrilled with the maternal 
instinct. The old hen allowed me to help pick off the bits 
of shell from her brood. Every one of the twelve eggs had 
produced a chicken, but one was afflicted with a strange 
malady. 

When the mother hen clucked her eleven fluffy balls of 
life to follow her and showed them how to pick up crumbs 
and seeds, the twelfth chicken walked backward with his head 
high in the air. Vainly the mother hen called and fluttered 
about him; he could not walk straight. So I called him 
"Tipsy" and took him into the house, and put him under the 
stove in a tin pan with warm cloths about him. I fed and 
coddled him and for days tried to put him back with the 
brood, but he could not live among them. Although he could 
pick up food, and drink water, he invariably walked backward 
when trying to move about. So Tipsy became my house pet, 
and deep was my affection for him. When he was six weeks 
old Tipsy crowed! I was startled and filled with apprehen- 
sion. Never was a six-weeks-old little rooster known to 
crow before, I knew. I felt that Tipsy had not long to live. 
I ran upstairs where my mother was making beds and told 



4 o THE WORLDS AND I 

her. Mother was hurried and tired, and she paid no attention 
to me, save to say I was in her way. Shortly after that I 
fell ill of chicken-pox. It was a light attack, as I was a most 
robust child, but I had to keep in bed for a week. At the 
end of the week, when I was told I could dress and sit up, 
I asked to see Tipsy. My mother very gently told me the 
sad news. Tipsy had walked backward just as a door blew 
shut in a gale of wind, and he was killed. They had buried 
him in the yard. Mother's tender sympathy was very comfort- 
ing then. Afterward I exhumed the body, and buried him 
by a stone in the pasture where reposed several of my pet 
cats, and I planted flowers over his grave. 

An old blue hen became my favorite later. She followed 
me about, and let me carry her in my arms. I must have been 
eleven years old. It was a summer day and I was helping 
my mother, churning the butter while she baked. She 
was making a cake and asked me to go out and bring in some 
eggs. I ran out full of the joy of life. As I looked in all 
the accustomed places for the eggs, I passed by the corn crib, 
and saw on the south side, huddled against the crib, my blue 
hen. Her eyes were partly closed, and when I touched her 
she seemed to be unconscious. My heart fairly froze in my 
breast with fear and sorrow. I knew my blue hen was dying. 
Yet I could not stay and try to save her, as my mother had 
told me to hurry back with the eggs and to finish the churning 
before the men came in for dinner. I went back to the 
house and finished the churning. I turned my back so my 
mother could not see that I was weeping. Tears always 
annoyed mother. They affected the men folk, but they dis- 
pleased her. I knew she would think me very silly for crying 
over the blue hen, but I could not help it. The day seemed 
to have lost all luster for me as I thought of my pet dying 
alone by the corn crib. She was dead indeed when I went 
out after the butter had come, and the table had been set. I 
hollowed out a grave for her, and picked some flowers to 
scatter over her corpse. 

It was after I had grown up that I told my mother of the 
sorrow of that hour. 



FIRST SCHOOL DAYS AND EARLY PETS 41 

There are still living in the village of Windsor, Wisconsin, 
a man and wife bearing rather unusual "given names," who 
had each a somewhat peculiarly beneficial influence on my 
early life. I refer to Brazier Ellis and his wife, Olyette. 
"Bra" Ellis, as his chums used to call him, frequently came 
to visit with my brother, and to hear my sister sing, and to 
argue on all sorts of subjects with my mother. When, before 
my fifteenth birthday, there was much comment in the neigh- 
borhood about my having had "pieces published in the papers/' 
Brazier Ellis, during a call on the family, looked at me 
critically and said, "Well, by the time she is sixteen Ella will 
be a regular bluestocking, round-shouldered, and wearing 
spectacles." The words were spoken in jest, but they filled 
me with a cold horror. It was the first intimation I had 
received that the shining shield of literary talent and achieve- 
ments could have a dark side. 

I remember asking my mother what "Bra" meant; and she 
told me that people who devoted their whole time to study and 
writing often grew round-shouldered and also overtaxed their 
eyes ; but she did not believe that this was necessary. I then 
and there resolved that it should not prove a necessary accom- 
paniment to my profession (for from the beginning I knew 
literature was to be for me not an amusement or a fad but 
a life-work). 

I began, the day after Brazier's words were uttered, to 
walk about the house and the yard, for at least half an hour, 
with a yardstick or a rod of some kind across my shoulders, 
and my arms linked over it. This made a very erect attitude, 
a high chest, and deep breathing compulsory. I often sat in 
this way while reading some book, and a more healthful or 
beneficial exercise was never taught in physical culture schools 
than this, which I evolved out of my own vanity; for it was 
really a desire to "look pretty," rather than any more sensible 
motive, which caused me to devote a little time each day to this 
practice. All the heroines in my favorite novels were described 
as erect and willowy, with beautifully poised heads, and I did 
not intend to acquire any habit which they would scorn to 
possess I was troubled because nature had not given me a 



42 THE WORLDS AND I 

"long, swan-like neck," but, at least, the neck I had should 
not be sunk between round shoulders. 

The spectacles, too, I was determined should be avoided. 
My eyes were naturally very strong, and rather far-sighted. 
I could read signs at the roadside at a much greater distance 
than any of my school companions; yet the corresponding 
difficulty to read at a normal distance, which frequently 
accompanies far sight, was not mine. With such excellent 
eyes, there was often a temptation to overtax them; but the 
ogre of the "spectacled bluestocking" kept me from many an 
indulgence in night reading and writing through many lonely 
evenings when the only alternative was to go early to bed. 

One mile east of my home lived the Sabin family; and Ellen, 
the oldest of an ever increasing family, was my great friend. 
She was the most brilliant scholar in three districts, and at 
fifteen had surpassed all her school mates in education. At 
sixteen she was teaching pupils older than herself. I used 
to look forward to walking over to see the new baby which 
came every year to the Sabin home; but Ellen did not greet 
each new arrival as enthusiastically as I did. She felt that 
her mother was overtaxed, and when twins arrived one year 
Ellen looked at me with blazing blue eyes, and said, "Come 
next year and we will have three to show you." Yet she 
proved the good fairy to all the brood and her unlimited 
generosity, affection and unselfishness gave them all larger 
opportunities for education. Ellen Sabin became a powerful 
educational factor in the middle West and the far West, 
and is to-day President of Downer-and-Milwaukee College. 
I remember a brilliant June day when Ellen and I saddled our 
horses and took a wonderful ride to Token Creek seven miles 
away, where she went on errands for home. The locust 
trees were in full bloom and Ellen recited for me a poem I 
had never heard until that day : "O what is so rare as a day 
in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days." Ellen's dear 
mother always hailed with delight my little literary triumphs : 
and when in my teens, I ran to the Sabin house to show my 
first book, "Drops of Water," there was as much rejoicing as 
if I had been one of their own brood. 



FIRST SCHOOL DAYS AND EARLY PETS 43 

Two miles west lived another family of eight children (the 
Howies). When they moved into our town, they seemed to 
bring a breeze from a larger world to us. They were Scotch 
people of fine blood and brain, and our families became very 
intimate. Jean and Mary, though both older than I, were 
very devoted to me. Jean posted my first efforts at literary 
achievements and kept my secret until they appeared in print. 
Mary chose me for her bridesmaid when she was married; 
and my first check paid for my gown. Mary and I have not 
met in many years, but we still write and love each other as 
of old. I used to ride my horse up to the Howie house ; and 
these rides always savored of adventure to me. When I set 
forth, it ever seemed to me that romantic experiences would 
occur before my return. I fancied I might perhaps be thrown 
from my horse at the feet of some Knight who would be 
touring through the country at that exact moment ; or it might 
be that the steeds of his coach would be frightened by the 
equestrienne, and that he would be thrown at my feet to 
be succored and cared for. 

Olyette Ellis was at that time, a Miss Smith, and my very 
dear school-teacher for a term or two in the little Westport 
schoolhouse. She impressed upon her pupils the benefit to 
be derived from daily cold baths, which, of course, meant a 
cold rub in a cold room, as we had no running water or 
porcelain tubs or steam heat in our environment; and she 
laid much stress on the care of the teeth and other hygienic 
habits which were of lasting value to me. Besides which, 
she possessed artistic and poetical talent, and by her praise 
greatly encouraged me in my early ambitions. 

My opportunities for acquiring education and accomplish- 
ments in my childhood were limited. There were no 
kindergartens then, and the nearest schoolhouse was a 
mile distant. My father taught me my letters from the out- 
side of an almanac, and I believe I learned to read quickly 
at an early age. I was fortunate in having parents who used- 
excellent English; and the older children had been taught to 
regard ungrammatical expressions and poor spelling as some- 
thing bordering on disgrace. So I absorbed the foundation 



44 THE WORLDS AND I 

of grammar and orthography without being conscious of it. 
My sister taught school and music and when she came home, 
at vacations or week-ends, brought well-educated friends into 
the home; and I heard many dissertations between my sister 
and oldest brother (a great reader and fine grammarian) and 
school-teacher friends which were helpful to me on the pro- 
nunciation of words. 

My mother was gifted with a wonderful power of 
expression, and had, by constant reading and a marvel- 
ous memory, acquired a rich vocabulary. My father, 
too, used good English, often somewhat stilted it seemed, 
when he was talking with strangers. I remember he was 
fond of using long words and I have seen a very puzzled look 
on the faces of some of his very simple-minded listeners (like 
the Norwegian hired men and women who helped us out at 
harvest-time). He once asked a green maid to do some 
bit of mending for him, and instead of saying, "when you 
have time," he said, "when you have opportunity/' Of course, 
that is a common word ; but it was Greek to the Scandinavian 
girl, and she came to my mother and asked : "What is oppor- 
tunity? Mr. Wheeler said I must have it." 

My father had been, during his youth in Vermont, some- 
what delicate in health ; and he had never performed any real 
manual labor until he came to Wisconsin to seek his fortune 
(and to lose all he had). His family, on the maternal side, 
was related to Ethan Allen, and his grandmother was the 
first white child born in New Hampshire. I believe some 
four generations back he traced Welsh ancestry. My mother's 
family, which was also American for four generations (her 
grandfather fought in the American Revolution), went back 
to French, Spanish and Irish forebears, and there was a 
rumor, which was her great pride, that the blood of Pocahon- 
tas filtered down through some branch of her family. I never 
knew how authentic this rumor was, but certainly my mother's 
sister, Aunt Abigail, looked strikingly like a squaw. She 
was as brown as an Indian, with straight, black hair, and she 
had a horror of being indoors. She loved the open, and 
lived into her eighties on the old Pratt farm, near Johns- 



FIRST SCHOOL DAYS AND EARLY PETS 45 

town, Wisconsin, taking care of stock and avoiding shoes and 
stockings when the weather would permit. Surely this does 
speak of Indian blood. Aunt Abigail boasted of the fact 
that she never had a proposal in her life, and never saw the 
man who possessed the least attraction for her as a lover. 

The mixture of blood in my mother's ancestry was strik- 
ingly illustrated in her sisters. The younger, Aunt Mary 
Ann, was distinctly Spanish in her type and nature, handsome, 
coquettish and fond of dress ; and her Latin temperament 
led her into two marriages. Aunt Amine was typically New 
England through and through, classically handsome, exces- 
sively neat and frugal, and austere in her ideas. I always 
stood in awe of this aunt. She was the wife of a prominent 
lawyer and judge in Wisconsin, and the mother of one of 
the eminent educators in the West, Professor W. D. Parker, 
long president of a college, now retired and living in Cali- 
fornia. He inherited his mother's austere moralities. 

My mother was a strange commingling of French and Irish 
temperaments, — wit and brilliancy. The Irish blood, no doubt, 
owing to the narrow ideas prevailing in New England for 
so long a time, was never acknowledged by the family (de- 
spite the fact that my grandmother's name was O'Connor) 
until I grew old enough to insist upon it. Once I took this 
stand, my mother accepted the fact with open pride. 

My father had, in Vermont, been the inheritor of a very 
roomy old ancestral house; and he had made an income by 
teaching the violin and dancing and deportment. In the 
Vermont house at Thetford, there was a large ballroom, where 
the "elite" used to come to learn these polite accomplishments 
from my father. Not until after he was eighty did he lose 
the upright figure and the easy, graceful deportment that 
always distinguished him from other farmers in our Wiscon- 
sin environment. 

My mother was taken as a bride to this Thetford house 
from Bradford, Vermont, her birthplace, and my brothers 
and sisters were born there. I did not appear on the scene 
until the family had lived some time in Wisconsin. 

As my father's financial ventures were not successful in 



46 THE WORLDS AND I 

the new life of the West, and as the family purse needed re- 
plenishing, he resumed his old occupation again in a measure ; 
and when I was eight years old, he had formed a class in 
dancing at Token Creek, a little burg some seven miles from 
our home. There was an inn there known as "Fields' 
Tavern," where the dancing class was held. I was permitted 
to attend, and there learned my first steps in an art that always 
fascinated me. It seems to me now that beautiful dancing 
contains all the other arts; it is poetry, music, sculpture, and 
painting all in one. 

My love for it was so intense and my aptitude so great 
that I am sure had my home been near any metropolis I 
should have been made a member of some ballet company 
before I grew out of childhood. Apropos of this, after my 
marriage, I was one of four young women who studied danc- 
ing under an old French ballet master. Two of the class took 
up the study to reduce their weight, and two of us for the 
benefit to our health and for the pleasure it afforded. (One 
of these was Marie Millard, the sweet and gifted daughter 
of Harrison Millard, the composer. She sang in opera for 
a season, and then married Louis Gottschalk, composer and 
musical director, now of California.) This old French master 
of the ballet was, of course, devoted to his profession, and 
he could not imagine that there was any position or vocation 
in life which recompensed a woman for missing the career 
of a successful ballet dancer. Several times during the two 
terms of lessons I had with him, he wrung his hands and 
cried out that it was "such a misfortune Madame had not 
fallen into his hands in her early childhood; he could have 
made such a wonderful artist of her." My sister was a most 
beautiful dancer, and she was very much of a belle among 
the beaux at Fields' Tavern; I found food for some of 
my early verses and stories, by hearing the family and friends 
discuss the jealousy of her rival admirers. 

Mr. Fields was the father of four very handsome daughters, 
and two of them possessed remarkable singing voices, as did 
my sister. Both my sister and Ann Fields, I remember, were 
the wonder of my father; when, after playing a whole com- 



FIRST SCHOOL DAYS AND EARLY PETS 47 

position of dance music on his violin, like "The Lancers" for 
instance, they would sing it through perfectly — their voices 
like flutes. Had either of these girls been given the oppor- 
tunity to study, they would have made operatic stars. I have 
heard my mother relate how, at the age of three years, my 
sister used to astonish my father's pupils in Vermont by 
singing fully twenty songs distinctly and correctly. 

Ann Fields was a handsome Amazon and prided herself 
upon her physical prowess. Such girls were not as frequently 
met with in those days as now, and Ann seemed to my childish 
mind like some radiant creature who had dropped^from an- 
other planet. I am quite sure that the remarkable qualities I 
ascribed to Minnie Tighthand, the heroine of my first "novel," 
were suggested by Ann Fields. 

A wonderful day came when my sister had a piano and soon 
after (at the age of fourteen) I began lessons. I received 
only a few terms of instruction as my sister was teaching else- 
where, and, shortly after, she married and moved to another 
state. But I was a faithful student, and gained the founda- 
tion knowledge of music which has enabled me all my life to 
obtain pleasure and recreation through some sort of an in- 
strument. For this privilege I feel profoundly grateful to 
my family. 

After my sister's piano was sent to her, my father, who had 
been speculating a bit in cattle and had made a little profit, 
bought me an Estey organ, which was my heart's delight for 
many a day. I even obtained such prestige as a performer 
on the organ that I consented to teach the rudiments of in- 
strumental music to a neighbor's girl. I look back upon this 
experience of my life with amazement at my own self-con- 
fidence and the confidence of my neighbor in my ability. After 
my marriage and removal to the East, where I came in con- 
tact with world- famed musicians, I dropped my crude piano- 
playing in fright, realizing how little I knew. Then there 
came a time when again I felt I must have musical expression, 
and I took up the mandolin, which musical toy resulted in 
giving me great distraction for five years. I formed an or- 
chestra (we called it "The Bungalow Band") among the cot- 



48 THE WORLDS AND I 

tagers at our lovely seashore home, and with two mandolins, 
a guitar, flute, cello, and piano, we studied good music and 
were able to give and receive much pleasure. We gave home 
concerts for charity. My mandolin, too, accompanied me on 
a tour of the world, and in every country I obtained national 
airs and practiced them many hours in our quarters on the ship 
or in quiet corners of the big decks during long voyages. 
Once in a compartment which my husband and I had all to 
ourselves in a long railway journey in northern Africa, I 
whiled away otherwise tedious hours by practicing some 
Arabian melodies which I had been fortunate enough to find 
after much search in a shop in Tunis. 

The Arabs, like all Orientals, do not write their music ; it 
is sung by one generation to another: but in Tunis I found 
a book of the Arabian airs which had been written down 
by an enterprising Frenchman who went and lived in the 
Arab tents, for months, for the purpose of studying and tran- 
scribing their national airs. (Antonin Laffarge was the 
musician's name, and his book, "La Musique Arab: Ses In- 
struments et Ses Chants," is a treasure which I highly prize. 
I doubt if any one else in America or perhaps in England 
possesses a copy of it.) 

My husband and I spent the week of the full moon, in 
April, 191 3, at Hamman Mousquitine, where there are the 
wonderful natural boiling spring baths of northern Africa; 
and each evening he liked to have me take my mandolin out 
under the big terebinthe tree and play the Arabian airs while 
he smoked his cigar. (Oh, week of wonderful memories!) 
Again, in India, I found a book of old Indian songs without 
words, which helped me to enter into the spirit of India after 
I left its historic shores. In 19 14, I abandoned the mandolin 
for the harp, and now find all my former dalliance with music 
a helpful preparation for a more serious study. | Music is an 
important factor in mature life, and looking bac"k across the 
years I realize that some wise, kind "Invisible Helper," urged 
me on always in every attempt I made to express myself in 
music, so that, in my later years, I might have this consola- 
tion and means of mental and spiritual development. \ I wish 



FIRST SCHOOL DAYS AND EARLY PETS 49 

all young people could realize the value of music in later life, 
and apply themselves accordingly. Musical vibrations are 
important factors in helping our spirit friends to come near. 

Very early in life, I felt an intense longing to be a linguist. 
Especially did I desire to learn French. One summer, my 
brother told me there was a French boy on a farm a few miles 
away. He was working for an old gentleman who had emi- 
grated from France a half -century before; that old gentleman 
said that the boy, George, spoke an excellent French. (We 
learned afterward that he had been sent to a French reform 
school for some early misdemeanor, had proven himself an 
apt pupil, and had come out after four years, speaking the 
"language of courts*' quite correctly. ) I at once negotiated with 
George to come to my home each Sunday and give me a French 
lesson. I obtained books and learned to read quite easily, 
but was impatient of the study part, and so did not make the 
progress I might otherwise have done. Yet, when marriage 
took me to the East and my husband urged me to begin the 
study of French seriously, I found that my Sunday afternoons 
on the farm in Wisconsin with the reform-school boy had been 
of real value to me. 

In New York city I became the first pupil of a dear French 
lady, Madame Sorieul, just from France and scarcely able to 
speak or understand a word of English. A friendship of a 
quarter of a century has resulted. Madame Sorieul, now a 
resident of Bridgeport, Connecticut, still teaches French. 

Swimming was an accomplishment which, as a little girl, 
I longed to acquire, but my mother thought a girl who swam, 
skated, or whistled was a tomboy. (Broad as she was in so 
many ways and so in advance of her associates and time, she 
nevertheless had her limitations.) We were not near any 
body of water larger than "Cramer's Pond," which relied 
upon frequent rains to keep it from being merely a marshy 
hollow; but over at Token Creek there was a stream of con- 
siderable depths, especially after a spell of rainy weather. 
One fatal day I was allowed to go and spend the afternoon 
with one of my friends, Helen Fields, and there found several 
other little girls. Helen told us that the creek, where it ran 



So THE WORLDS AND I 

through the woods, was very deep and very clear, and that 
we could go swimming there and no one see us. It was 
a hot summer day, and the idea seemed fascinating. So off 
we went, and off went our clothes, and into the creek we 
splashed. Terrible thoughts of what would happen if my 
mother chanced along came to blight the brilliant moment for 
me ; but we came out, dried ourselves off ( in the sunlight and 
with leaves, no doubt, as I am sure Helen took no towels 
along), dressed, and returned home without being discovered. 
Just how the story leaked out I do not recall; but I do recall 
the terrible scolding I received, for my mother's brilliant flow 
of language was never more noticeable than when she was 
angry. She never used a vulgar or coarse word, but she could 
be sarcastic to an unbelievable degree, using very choice ex- 
pressions. She believed I had disgraced myself and the family 
and all womankind by immodest conduct, and 'I was in dis- 
favor for many a day. 

It was not until after my marriage that I had the privilege 
of acquiring the very healthful and useful accomplishment of 
swimming. My mother spent the last seven of her ninety 
years at my seashore home and lived to see me swimming 
every summer day, and learned to accept the fact that I swam 
well with considerable pride. Yet she would almost invaria- 
bly add, after any complimentary remark that was made on 
the subject: "It was not considered nice for girls to swim in 
my day." 



CHAPTER III 
The Beginnings of Success 

IN my early teens, before the railroad came to Windsor, 
our post-office was at Westport, five miles distant. Mail 
came, I believe, only twice a week. My early effusions were 
posted in that office, and when the men were busy with farm- 
work I used to go into the pasture, put a bridle and blanket 
and surcingle on single-pacing Kitty, take a cross-lot ride to 
the home of Alice Ellis, whose father had brought her a pony 
from California, and off we would speed to the Westport 
post-office. There was great joy of life in those rides, but 
they were restricted before long, because a "Mr. Butt-In" 
from somewhere along the route told a male member of 
my family that "Elly and Ally rode like the very devil and 
would break their necks if allowed to go on in that way." 
Soon after this, a post-office was established at Leicester, four 
miles west of us, and still later at Windsor, three miles east 
of us, where the railroad had formed the nucleus of a little 
town. Leicester about the same time became merged into 
Waunakee, two or three miles to the south, but the same 
distance from my old home. I believe Waunakee is now quite 
a thriving town ; but even in the early years of my marriage 
it was so modest in size that it led to a droll sarcasm from 
the pen of my humorous husband. I was making my second 
visit to Wisconsin after my marriage. My husband went 
with me, but left after a few days for the East, on a train 
passing through Waunakee to Chicago. I wrote him the next 
week that a citizen of Waunakee said Mr. Wilcox was the 
handsomest man he ever saw. To this my Robert replied : 

"Which of the residents of Waunakee was it, my dear? 
The one who lives in the red house north of the railroad 
track, or the other one living in the white house south of 

5i 



52 THE WORLDS AND I 

the track? With such a continual rush of crowds passing 
before his vision continually, I should think the Waunakee 
citizen a most competent judge of manly beauty." 

To return to those earlier days when Leicester was our 
post-office carries me back to several prosperous years on the 
farm when the family owned a "top buggy" which seemed 
to me like a queen's chariot as I rode with my brothers to the 
Good Templars' lodge-meetings, where we met a circle of our 
"best society." There was much talk, papers were read and 
songs sung, after which was a general good time. 

There were two winters also about that time made joyous 
by a singing school. Mr. Padley, who possessed a fine tenor 
voice, was our teacher, and his skill was so great that he 
developed a voice in me, and I became his first soprano. 

Then there was a sort of semi-annual or quarterly ball at 
Miller's Hall, which was always a brilliant function. The 
hall was engaged by a dozen young men who issued invita- 
tions by word of mouth to those deemed worthy by merit 
of good behavior and good dancing to be in "our crowd." 
Each man invited his "lady" and paid his share of the expense 
for music and supper. I was sixteen years old when Miller's 
Hall was at its height of popularity, and I still think of it 
as a sort of illuminated Temple, brilliant with lights and 
dazzling with youth, beauty and elegance. I know that it 
was in reality a crude building, lighted with kerosene-oil 
lamps and peopled with farmers, and their wives, daughters, 
and sons, in home-made clothes. There were too, of course, 
storekeepers' families and clerks, bookkeepers and school- 
teachers, all of whom were regarded as a little higher in the 
social scale. We used to dance from early evening to the 
break of day and then regret that dawn had come so soon. 

My romantic temperament and the sensational reading 
I fed upon caused me to imagine myself the heroine of 
sentimental experiences at an early age. Quite unknown to 
any one, I believed I was a victim of unrequited love at the 
age of thirteen. Ignoring boys of my own age, I fixed my 
attention upon a young man of twenty-five who often came 



THE BEGINNINGS OF SUCCESS 53 

to the house to see my brothers, and who was engaged to be 
married to a girl in her twenties. 

My hero was a clerk of some sort, which enabled him to 
dress more nattily than the farm-boys; and he seemed to me 
like one of the "younger sons" of the aristocratic families 
described by Mrs. Southworth and Mary J. Holmes. Regard- 
ing me as the little girl I was in reality, and quite unaware of 
my romantic attitude toward him, he made something of a 
pet of me, thus fanning the flame in my imaginative heart, 
to what I quite enjoyed believing was a hopeless passion 
which would send me to an early grave. 

Emily, the sweetheart of my hero, was brown as a Gypsy, 
with coal-black hair and eyes, and a protruding under lip — 
what the surgical dentists call, I believe, "the bulldog jaw." 
In my eyes she was altogether beautiful, because she was the 
chosen one of my hero; and for a period of several weeks 
I went about the house with my tongue thrust against my 
under lip, hoping to resemble Emily, if I could not be she. 

My sister one day asked my mother what in the world was 
the matter with Ella's mouth: "It looked so strange lately." 
They made solicitous inquiries as to whether I had any pain or 
swelling of the mouth, and so much attention was bestowed 
upon that feature that I was obliged to let it resume its nat- 
ural shape. 

The day Emily became the bride of my hero I confided to 
a sympathetic chum the fact that I never expected to smile 
again. In return, she told me that she had been thwarted in 
love by cruel parents (she was fifteen), and that earth for 
her, too, was henceforth a barren waste. 

A few months afterward, my first effusions appeared in 
print, and life assumed a new aspect and my hopeless pas- 
sion was forgotten. I was fifteen when the next hero ap- 
peared on my horizon. He was twenty-six, and he came from 
a lumber-camp in the northern part of the state, and told 
tales of adventure that made him seem like a second Othello. 
He possessed a very good tenor voice and sported a black 
moustache, which his jealous rivals said was originally a sickly 
yellow in color. Dark tales were afloat that he had been seen 



54 THE WORLDS AND I 

to drink a glass of beer; and also that he was in arrears at 
the country store for rather flashy neckties and waistcoats 
which he had purchased. His evident interest in me at the 
lodge-meetings and the singing school and at Miller's Hall 
caused my family uneasiness, as I evinced decided pleasure 
in his attentions. He was given to understand that he was 
not welcome as a caller at my home. The next night at the 
lodge-meeting he announced his immediate return to the 
logging-camp. Being on the entertainment committee for a 
song, he gave with great passion "The Pirate's Love-Song/' 
gazing at me as he sang, 

"This night or never my bride thou must be." 

I drove back across the prairies feeling that I had blighted 
one man's life and that Ouida could find in me a wonderful 
heroine for a new novel. A few days afterward, the man 
sent me his first, last, and only love-letter, so terribly mis- 
spelled and so ungrammatical that my second romance died 
a sudden and ignominious death. His "blighted life" con- 
tinued, however, to send forth new shoots, and he buried four 
wives and was living with the fifth the last I heard of him. 

After my early advent into the magazines and weeklies, 
the current of my life very rapidly changed. New acquaint- 
ances and new interests came, and I drifted from the lodge 
meeting, the singing school and Miller's Hall into other 
circles. 

A correspondence with several contributors to The Mercury 
and other periodicals popular at that time ensued, and lent a 
new interest to my life. Helen Manville wrote charming 
verses, and I was greatly flattered when I one day received a 
letter from her commending some verses of mine and asking 
me to write to her. The little poem she liked was the fol- 
lowing : 

STARS 

Astronomers may gaze the heavens o'er, 

Discovering wonders, great perhaps and true — 

That stars are worlds and peopled like our own; 
But I shall never think as these men do. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF SUCCESS SS 

I shall believe them little shining things, 

Fashioned from heavenly ore and filled with light; 

And to the skies above so smoothly blue 
An angel comes and nails them every night. 

And I have seen him. You, no doubt, would think 
A white cloud sailed across the heaven's blue ; 

But as I watched the feathery thing, it was 
An angel nailing up the stars I knew. 

And all night long they shine for us below, 
Shine in pale splendor till the mighty sun 
Wakes up again. And then the angel comes 
And gathers in his treasures one by one. 

How sweet the task ; and when this life is done 
And I have joined the angel band on high, 

Of all that throng, Oh, may it be my task 
To nail the stars upon the evening sky. 

Mrs. Manville lived at La Crosse, Wisconsin, and she came 
to visit me afterward — my first visit from a literary celebrity, 
for she was a celebrity in the West at that time. My return 
visit to Mrs. Manville was an epoch in my life, and I felt 
more widely traveled on my return than I felt in later life 
after a tour of the earth. 

Besides her poetic talent, Helen Manville possessed exqui- 
site beauty, which she transmitted together with her talents 
to her lovely daughter, now Mrs. Pope, whose works have 
been published over her name, Marion Manville Pope. 

Eben E. Rexford, author of "Silver Threads Among the 
Gold," was another Wisconsin poet with whom I corre- 
sponded for a considerable time; but we never met. Mr. 
Rexford was a shy bachelor, hiding away among his books 
and flowers all his life. He passed on to higher worlds of 
poetry and flowers only two or three years ago, still a resi- 
dent of Wisconsin. 

Although my correspondence with a more famous poet 
occurred several years later, this seems the appropriate place 
in my life story to relate it. I refer to my acquaintance with 
James Whitcomb Riley. He wrote, praising some things of 



56 THE WORLDS AND I 

mine, particularly the following verses, to which he gave 
unstinted words of approval: 

THE STORY 

They met each other in the glade — 

She lifted up her eyes ; 
Alack the day, alack the maid ! 

She blushed in swift surprise. 

Alas, alas, the woe that comes from lifting up the eyes ! 

The pail was full, the path was steep; 

He reached to her his hand ; 
She felt her warm young pulses thrill 

But did not understand. 

Alas, alas, the woe that comes from clasping hand with hand ! 

She sat beside him in the wood ; 

He wooed with words and sighs. 
Ah, love in spring seems sweet and good 

And maidens are not wise. 

Alas, alas, the woe that comes from listing lover's sighs ! 

The summer sun shone fairly down ; 

The wind came from the South. 
As blue eyes gazed in eyes of brown, 

His kiss fell on her mouth. 

Alas, alas, the woe that comes from kisses on the mouth ! 

And now the autumn time is near; 

The lover roves away. 
With breaking heart and falling tear 

She sits the livelong day. 

Alas, alas, for breaking hearts when lovers rove away ! 

This letter of appreciation from Mr. Riley, who was just 
coming into public notice, led to a most interesting corre- 
spondence which must, I think, have covered more than a 
twelvemonth. It is a veritable loss to literature that this 
spirited and sparkling series of letters which were exchanged 
no longer exists. We often interspersed our letters with 
verse; and I recall a parody which Mr. Riley wrote on the 
above poem which was a gem of wit. He wrote of an imag- 



THE BEGINNINGS OF SUCCESS 57 

inary visit which he hoped to make me in my home in Wis- 
consin, and I remember that one stanza ran something like 
this: 

He sat beside her in her home ; 

He let her call him "Jim-" 
She let him hold her hand in his, 

Which was great fun for him. 

Alas, alas, the woe that comes from calling fellows "Jim!" 

The wit and sparkle and beauty and pathos of his letters 
and my replies would, I know, have been delightful reading 
for the world to-day — had Mr. Riley and I remained cor- 
respondents only and never met. The meeting was precisely 
like the encounter of a canine and a feline. Mr. Riley cer- 
tainly barked in a way which caused my feline back to rise, 
and instead of calling him "Jim," I hissed in his face. 

It all came about very suddenly at the first of our three 
meetings. I was visiting in Milwaukee; Mr. Riley was on a 
hunting trip of a few days with Reverend Myron Reed. He 
called on me; in fact, stayed over a day for that purpose. I 
attired myself for his call in a new gown — one of the first 
really modish gowns I had ever owned. I remember it was 
black with little pipings of pale blue, simple, but quite in the 
fashion. My hair also was arranged in the fashion of , the 
hour. The front was cut in a full fluffy "bang" which every- 
body feminine wore just then. I had at that time a radiant 
bloom; and I went to meet my caller, thinking my black and 
cerulean gown was very becoming. Not so Mr. Riley. He 
began at once to criticize me, announcing himself as bitterly 
disappointed in my "frivolous appearance. ,, My "fashion- 
able" dress and banged hair he thought most inappropriate 
for a "genius," and hearing that I had attended a lawn-party 
that afternoon where there had been dancing, he expressed 
himself still more violently. Only idiots with their brains in 
their feet, he said, cared about dancing. I should be above 
such things. 

My own shock when I first saw Mr. Riley had been very 
great. He was very blond and very ugly. I was never at- 



58 THE WORLDS AND I 

tracted by blond men, even when handsome, and his whole 
personality was most disappointing to me. I did not, of 
course, tell him so, but I did tell him that I considered him 
most impertinent in his comments. 

He went away and wrote a letter still worse than his 
spoken words, and I replied accordingly. Then he came back 
from the hunting-trip, and, on his way to the train, he called 
at the door just a moment, and asked to see me. I had an 
engagement, and he was hurrying to the train, so in five 
minutes he tried to be a bit conciliatory — paid me a compli- 
ment — and said he hoped we would be friends after all. But 
his next letter was so disagreeable that I wrote and asked 
him to return, at once, every letter I had ever written, as I 
did not want posterity to know I had wasted so much time 
on an impossible person. I sent his letters all back by the 
same post, and received mine shortly after. A few months 
later he wrote, begging me to resume the correspondence as 
it was before we met; but after two letters that proved im- 
possible. 

In one of his letters, Mr. Riley asked me how I thought 
that "God-woman," Mrs. Browning, would have looked in a 
fashionable gown and with a "bang," and I replied that I 
thought she would have looked very much better than she did 
with the corkscrew curls prominent in the pictures I had seen 
of her. This reply still further disgusted Mr. Riley. 

The only other time I ever met James Whitcomb Riley was 
something like eighteen years after, when he was famous and 
opulent and making a visit to his publishers in New York. 

I was living at the Westminster Hotel, a very happy ma- 
tron, and I was giving a luncheon that day to Theodosia 
Garrison, who was just coming into the early glow of her 
present brilliant fame. I saw Mr. Riley sitting in the recep- 
tion-room and at once knew him, he had changed so little 
After greeting him, I told him of my luncheon-party an< 
that ten lovely young girls and women were coming down in 
the next elevator, and asked him to give them the great pleas- 
ure of meeting him for one minute. Mr. Riley shrugged hi 
shoulders and said: 






THE BEGINNINGS OF SUCCESS 59 

"I never do that sort of thing; it bores me." 

"But," I urged, "these young girls will be so pleased, and 
it will be a memory for them to cherish always. Please meet 
them. I promise no more than five minutes of your time 
shall be taken." 

But Mr. Riley firmly declined. 

"You do not deserve your great success/' I said, and that 
was our parting. Some time after that, Mr. Riley wrote me 
a letter saying that he had recently, on a lecture tour, talked 
with a man about me, who had, to his consternation, proved 
to be a newspaper reporter, and that the reporter had dis- 
torted and exaggerated some criticisms he had made on me. 
He begged me to pardon him for having been led to talk with 
one who misrepresented him. The article, which I after- 
ward saw, was indeed very disagreeable, and I simply wrote 
to Mr. Riley that I thought it an excellent habit to talk to 
strangers regarding other writers and all women in a way 
that one is not afraid to have appear in print. And that was 
our final word. 

This being in full my entire acquaintance with James Whit- 
comb Riley, one can imagine my state of mind when, last 
year in California, a lecturer on the work and life of the 
Hoosier Poet stated at the close of every lecture that Mr. 
Riley and Ella Wheeler Wilcox had been at one time en- 
gaged to be married, but that Fate intervened. I looked up the 
bureau which had sent out the lecturer, only to learn that the 
man had recently died; so death had stilled the voice which 
had repeated this untrue tale, and I could only await the 
proper moment to deny it myself, which is now. Mr. Riley 
was greatly beloved by all who knew him ; he was full of wit 
and charm and kindliness, I am told. But — he and I were 
not suited to be chums. 

Returning to the period of life when my early verses gave 
me local fame, I recall the first time a poem of mine was 
read in public. It was a poem for the decoration of soldiers' 
graves in Madison, Wisconsin, and the request came in a very 
official-looking envelope right from the state-house and signed 
by the governor, the one-armed hero of Gettysburg, Lucius 



60 THE WORLDS AND I 

Fairchild. Great was the excitement in the little brown house 
in Westport when that letter came, and great was the joy of 
all when my verses were pronounced even more than good 
for the occasion. I declined to read them myself, as I felt 
that I had not the talent or the self-confidence needed for that 
role, so Major Myers, an accomplished elocutionist, was 
chosen for the reader, and gave them with great effect. The 
verses began: 

Gather them out of the valley, 

Bring them from moorland and hill, 
And cast them in wreaths and in garlands 

On the city so silent and still; 

So voiceless and silent and still, 
Where neighbor speaks never to neighbor, 

Where the song of the bird and the brown bee is heard 
But never the harsh sounds of labor. 



The audience on that very beautiful May day gave the lit- 
tle country girl poet a veritable ovation; but not so remark- 
able was the demonstration as that which occurred the same 
year a few months later, when the Grand Army of the Ten- 
nessee met for their reunion in Madison, and I was again 
made the poet of the day and evening, and Major Myers 
again read my poem, this time before an audience of some 
five thousand people, in the largest auditorium of the city. 
I had been told that, from among the many generals to be 
there, Sheridan would be absent, much to the disappointment 
of the committee. As my poem was written in the present 
tense, therefore, I made no mention of him. Of Grant, ] 
wrote : 

Let Grant come up from the White House 

And grasp each brother's hand ; 
First chieftain of the Army, 

Last chieftain of the Land. 

Come, heroes of Lookout Mountain, 

Of Corinth and Donelson, 
Of Kenesaw and Atlanta, 

And tell how the day was won. 






THE BEGINNINGS OF SUCCESS 61 

After I had entered the hall and was sitting in the audience 
near the stage, where the speakers were to give their ad- 
dresses and my poem was to be read, Major Myers came to 
me in great perturbation and said : 

"After all, General Sheridan is here; he came at the last 
moment. It is a great pity you did not mention him in your 
poem." 

"Give me a pencil and pad," I said, "and I will write a 
verse now." 

"What! Right here, in all this excitement?" the major 
asked, and he gave me the implements, demurring and 
doubting. 

To my signal, a few moments later, he came back and 
received with great delight the following stanza: 

As Sheridan went to the battle 

When a score of miles away, 
He has come to the feast and banquet 

By the iron horse to-day. 
Its pace is not much swifter 

Than the pace of that famous steed 
That bore him down to the contest, 

And saved the day by his speed. 

When the poem was read and Major Myers produced the 
new verse and explained it had been written since I came to 
the hall, there was such a demonstration as never had been 
known in that auditorium before, so people said, and there 
was still another after the poem was finished. It was my 
first call before an audience to receive its cheers; and to re- 
spond only with bows and tears, for never have I been able 
to make a speech in public. 

General Sherman said to a man near him on that occa- 
sion: 

"If this goes to that girl's heart, it will do her good; if 
it goes to her head, it will spoil her." 

The next morning, the charming man and beloved gov- 
ernor of the state, General Lucius Fairchild, came to call on 



62 THE WORLDS AND I 

me and bring his congratulations; and, as he took my hand, 
he said: 

"I wish I had two arms to put around you, little girl. I 
am so proud of you." 

It was not very long after this that an editor came from 
Milwaukee to offer me a position on his trade magazine, at 
what seemed to me a princely salary. I was to edit the maga- 
zine literary page and furnish original prose and verse each 
month. The family demurred: the men objected, but my 
mother, ever anxious to have me widen my horizon, con- 
sented. 

It was my first breaking-away from the country home and 
my second trip on a railroad when I went to Milwaukee. I 
knew one family there and through it secured board with 
friends — an eminent judge and his wife. For three months 
I held the one and only position which during my lifetime 
took me from my home into an office. Then the trade maga- 
zine failed, and I went back to the country. But I had left a 
new circle of friends which was to be a center of social 
pleasure and benefit to me for many years to come. 

The judge at whose home I boarded those three months 
was, through a late marriage, the father of two little girls. 
I became deeply attached to these children and they and their 
mother to me. I put little Eva to sleep every night by telling 
her fairy-stories. One evening, however, an editor came to 
call before Eva had her hour with me. She was in the back 
parlor with her parents, and I received the editor in the front 
parlor with only heavy plush portieres between. Eva could 
not understand why I did not come to her. Her mother ex- 
plained that I had a caller; suddenly the editor and I were 
startled at seeing the heavy dark portieres part and a cherub 
in a "nightie" standing between them, while a baby voice, with 
a peculiarly fascinating alto chord in it, ejaculated, "I'd like 
to shot him." Then the curtains closed and the cherub 
vanished. On Eva's third birthday, I wrote the following 
lines, which welded the heart of her parents to me for- 
ever: 



THE BEGINNINGS OF SUCCESS 63 

SOMEBODY SWEET 

A robin up in the linden tree, 

Merrily sings this lay: 
"Somebody Sweet is three years old, 

Three years old to-day." 
Somebody's bright blue eyes look up, 

Through tangled curls of gold, 
And two red lips unclose to say, 

"To-day I am free years old." 

Clouds were over the sky this morn, 

But now they are sailing away; 
Clouds could never obscure the sun 

On Somebody Sweet's birthday. 
Bluest of skies and greenest of trees, 

Sunlight and birds and flowers, 
These are Nature's birthday gifts 

To this sweet pet of ours. 

The pantry is brimming with cakes and creams 

For Somebody's birthday ball. 
Papa and mamma bring their gifts 

But their love is better than all. 
Ribbons and sashes and dainty robes, 

Gifts of silver and gold 
Will fade and rust as the days go by, 

But their hearts will not grow cold. 

Then laugh in the sunlight, Somebody Sweet, 

Little flower of June ; 
You have nothing to do with care, 

For life is in perfect tune. 
Loving hearts and sheltering arms 

Shall keep old care away 
For many a year from Somebody Sweet, 

Who is three years old to-day. 

Only a few years before the war I was in Paris and spent 
a happy evening with "Somebody Sweet," where she lived 
with her fine husband and interesting family of five boys, 
which included sturdy twins. 

I belonged in Milwaukee for a season to the O. B. J. 
Club. It was a select company of young people who 



64 THE WORLDS AND I 

organized with the one object, "Oh, Be Joyful." Dancing 
was its chief method of expression. Hattie, my especial 
chum at that time, lived in what seemed to me a palatial 
home. She was a graduate of two colleges, a fine musician 
as well, and brilliant in recitation, often giving public recitals. 
Her particular admirer that season had a friend, John, who 
was in Milwaukee for a few weeks on business. John lived 
in the South and was engaged to be married to a very lovely 
young widow, so Hattie told me, but John was a fine dancer 
and he had been invited as a guest of the O. B. J. Club. 
Hattie and "Vin" wanted me to accept him as an escort to 
the ball, which took place on the night of my arrival at 
Hattie's house from my country home. So John was pre- 
sented, and proved a very handsome young man and a won- 
derful dancer. 

Dancing and music always stirred my muse to action; so 
the morning after that ball I wrote some verses called "A 
Dirge," beginning: 

"Death and a Dirge at midnight, 

Yet never a soul in the house 

Heard anything more than the throb and beat 

Of a beautiful waltz of Strauss." 

The verses proceeded to relate that a girl's heart broke 
and died, as she floated about in her partner's arms to the 
waltz music, because she knew he loved another. When 
John called the following evening I read him the verses 
and said : "I had to utilize you and the music to pay for the 
slippers I danced through last evening." John replied : "Then 
you are just a broker, Miss Ella, and we fellows are the stock 
you manipulate." The verses brought me $3.00 and bought 
new slippers — and led a number of people to think I had 
passed through a great sorrow of the affections. 

"The Waltz-Quadrille," one of my most popular early 
verses, was similarly conceived. I had promised the quadrille 
at a commencement ball at Madison University to a man on 
the eve of a journey, who was unable to find me when the 
number was called. Although I did not have the pleasure 



THE BEGINNINGS OF SUCCESS 65 

of a dance with him, I wrote the poem and sent him a copy 
of it, saying : "This is the way I should have felt had I been 
in love with you and had I danced the waltz-quadrille with 
you just before your departure from Madison." 

THE WALTZ-QUADRILLE 

The band was playing a waltz-quadrille. 
I felt as light as a wind-blown feather, 
As we floated away, at the caller's will, 
Through the intricate, mazy dance together. 
Like mimic armies our lines were meeting, 
Slowly advancing and then retreating, 
All decked in their bright array ; 
And back and forth to the music's rhyme 
We moved together, and all the time 
I knew you were going away. 

The fold of your strong arm sent a thrill 

From heart to brain as we gently glided 

Like leaves on the waves of that waltz-quadrille ; 

Parted, met, and again divided — 

You drifting one way, and I another, 

Then suddenly turning and facing each other, 

Then off in the blithe chassez. 

Then airily back to our places swaying, 

While every beat of the music seemed saying 

That you were going away. 

I said to my heart, "Let us take our fill 

Of mirth, and music, and love, and laughter; 

For it all must end with this waltz-quadrille, 

And life will be never the same life after." 

Oh, that the caller might go on calling, 

Oh, that the music might go on falling 

Like a shower of silver spray, 

While we whirled on to the vast Forever, 

Where no hearts break, and no ties sever, 

And no one goes away ! 

A clamor, a crash, and the band was still, 

'Twas the end of the dream, and the end of the measure; 

The last low notes of that waltz-quadrille 

Seemed like a dirge o'er the death of Pleasure. 



66 THE WORLDS AND I 

You said "Good-night" and the spell was over — 
Too warm for a friend, and too cold for a lover — 
There was nothing else to say. 
But the lights looked dim, and the dancers weary, 
And the music was sad and the hall was dreary 
After you went away. 

During one of my visits in Milwaukee, the next year, I had 
my first experience with the occult world. I had been reared 
in a home where a question mark always was used after any 
statement made by people or books regarding the future life. 
Yet from the hour I could think, I always thought with rev- 
erence and love of God, the Great Creator of this wonderful 
•^ universe. Faith was born in my soul and as a little child my 
X I belief in prayer and in my guardian angels haloed my world. 

I think I could not have been more than nine years old 
\ ] when, sitting one day, on the stairs leading from the "front 
room" to the sleeping apartments, I heard the grown-ups 
talking in an agnostic manner about things spiritual. I rec- 
ollect just how crude and limited their minds seemed to me 
and in my heart was such a soft wonderful feeling of faith 
and knowledge of worlds beyond this world. 

I realize now, that the family was not atheistical as that 
word is understood to-day. It was merely too advanced in- 
tellectually to accept the old eternal brimstone idea of hell 
and the eternal psalm singing idea of heaven; it refused to 
accept the story of the recent formation of the earth, knowing 
science had proof of its vast antiquity. Unfortunately, the 
larger and far more reverent religion of the present day, which 
is in perfect accord with science and reveals heaven to us as 
a most beautiful place if we so build it while here, was not 
then talked or understood generally; so the Wheeler family 
was regarded as heretical by the church people. My father 
and two brothers were strictly moral men and possessed a 
fine sense of honor in money matters. My oldest brother 
sacrificed his personal ambitions and aims to devote his early 
youth to aiding the family through very hard times. His 
whole youth was one, of service and sacrifice for others. I 
remember one Christmas when money was very close indeed. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF SUCCESS 67 

This brother rode seven miles on horseback on a bitter day to 
get two little books for the Christmas of my brother and 
myself, so our day would not be wholly blank. With such 
characteristics it was difficult for my parents or brothers to 
believe that some of the orthodox church-going men and 
women of their acquaintance who evaded debts, ignored duty 
and fell from morality easily, were nevertheless to be "saved" 
through their periodical "repentance" and return to faith of 
the church, while these men who were living the Sermon on 
the Mount were to be lost. Very much vital force and many 
words were wasted by them all in discussing these subjects 
with minds not awakened enough, or brains developed enough 
to comprehend any idea not cut and dried for them by some 
supposed authority. 

I used to dread these arguments and always when anything 
really bordering on irreverence was uttered it hurt me like 
a blow. In after years I understood why this was. Being 
an old soul myself, reincarnated many more times than any 
other member of my family, I knew the truth of spiritual 
things not revealed to them. I could not formulate what I 
knew, but I felt myself the spiritual parent of my elders; 
and I longed to help them to clearer sight. 

In later life my mother grew to accept my belief in guardian 
angels and in prayer, seeing the wonderful way my own 
prayers were answered, and how I was protected and helped 
by the invisible fprces about me. Of course anything which 
related to Spiritualism or communication with those who J 

were gone from earth met with the loudest ridicule from the 
whole family. Nevertheless my mother used to relate strange 
dreams and forewarnings which came to her. But with the 
same independence which marked all my thoughts I held my 
own ideas on these matters and always hoped for an oppor- 
tunity to investigate. It came during the visit to Milwaukee 
mentioned above. I had become involved in one of the transi- 
tory romances which lent illusion to my otherwise common- 
place life — only this romance seemed to threaten a more 
serious phase, as the man was bent on marriage. While I 
liked his very earnest love-making and felt flattered by his 



68 THE WORLDS AND I 

attention, as he was a "city beau," I did not want to end my 
girlhood by marriage. Older friends assured me he was 
desirable and that I had received a "good offer," and ought 
not to refuse it. Still I demurred. Life was to me a book 
I had just begun to read, and it seemed to me the hand of 
marriage would close it. Yet I was loth to give up the at- 
tentions of my "city beau." In this state of mind I one day 
donned the garments of a friend who was in deep mourning, 
rented a bright red wig from a costumer, and proceeded to a 
psychic lady who was creating excitement in Milwaukee by 
her slate writing. Men were consulting her regarding the 
wheat market and she was very prominently before the public 
eye. Of course I was a country girl, not universally known 
in Milwaukee, but I felt I wanted to be absolutely incognito 
and so disguised myself in the weeds of my friend. 

The first message which came upon the slate was : "Ella, 
why don't you come to us honestly; we all know and love 
you. Alice Cary." The next was, "Ella, you must not 
marry this man ; he is not the one for you ; great sorrow will 
result if you do. Harvey." 

Now the only Harvey I knew had died suddenly of heart 
disease some six months previously. He was a connection by 
marriage (his uncle married my cousin), and he had always 
been much concerned about my kaleidoscopic panorama of 
romances. 

Well, it was not the message but the natural course of 
events which prevented me from marrying the man ; but time 
proved that he was, indeed, not the man for me. 

After that experience I naturally made other explorations 
into the world of occultism — with all kinds of results, of 
course. I learned that one psychic in twenty (or medium, as 
they were called in those days) who made a business of 
occultism, possessed real powers in that line and the other 
nineteen mistook the ability to read the thoughts of people 
for second sight. Telepathy is a word much in use nowadays ; 
but that in itself is a very wonderful thing. It does not, how- 
ever, give its possessor the right to claim that what she feels, 
sees or hears, regarding the people who come to her, is a 



THE BEGINNINGS OF SUCCESS 69 

message from the realms beyond. Often the psychic be- 
lieves she sees a spirit when she sees only a thought form; 
yet my experience has proven to me beyond question that 
certain sensitives do see the astral forms that frequently 
appear in our midst. Until my very recent investigations in 
this realm of the invisible, which will be dealt with later, 
there was only one other period of my life when I gave the 
subject serious attention. That was after the death of my 
baby boy. I think I must have visited one hundred clair- 
voyants, mediums and psychics of various types, in many 
cities and states. Always during the years following my loss, 
I went into the presence of these sensitives with one dominat- 
ing thought and desire; the desire to be convinced that other 
children were coming to bless my life. And here was where 
I eventually learned my lesson of the power of thought forms. 
Every psychic I visited, with one exception, foretold the birth 
of children for me. Often the very dates of birth were given 
and the sex of the various children. So powerful was my 
desire, it made a picture which the mediums mistook for the 
spirit child to come. One of the women, a trance medium, 
was an absolute seer. She said no other child would come 
to me in this incarnation ; that my only child was in the spirit 
world; and then she proceeded to outline my future. 
Now, after more than a quarter of a century, I am able to 
say that every event she foresaw has transpired, events which 
seemed impossible of becoming realities at the time she fore- 
told them. 

These experiences made me realize the folly and danger 
which lie in this investigation of invisible realms for the 
people who are merely curious and who have no basic founda- 
tion of knowledge of occult matters. The hysterical and jeal- 
ous woman who goes to a medium to learn whether her lover 
or husband is true to her will, of course, know that her 
worst fears are well founded, for her intense jealous thoughts 
will make a form visible to the eyes of the psychic. The 
psychic is not a fraud, but a self -deceived mind-reader. 

Once afterward the real psychic came across my path. 
This was not a professional but a woman of wealth and 



70 THE WORLDS AND I 

social position who, since early childhood, had been pursued 
by psychical phenomena and who was able to produce mes- 
sages on slates which were held in full sight of the sitter and 
never opened by her. Owing to the objections of her hus- 
band to this phenomenon, the lady had not used her powers 
for twelve years until in my apartment at a New York hotel 
she consented to try to obtain a message for me. I procured 
two slates from children in the hotel but there were no slate 
pencils available. "Let us try sheets of paper," I said, "with 
an atom of lead pencil between them. ,, "I never tried that/' 
she said, "but we can experiment." She insisted that I make 
all the preparations; so I placed a sheet of hotel paper from 
my desk between two slates and with it the tiny end broken 
from a lead pencil — an atom impossible to hold between thumb 
and finger. I strapped the slates with an elastic band, and the 
lady held one end while I held the other. They were spas- 
modically jerked about in our hands, but I clung to them. 
The room was brilliantly lighted. After some three or four 
minutes three taps came on the slates. My caller, who had 
just asked me what work I was doing that winter, remarked 
that the taps indicated a message. 

"You open the slates," she said. "I do not want to touch 
them." So I opened them and there in a delicate spider-like 
scrawl were these words legibly written: 

"God gives a part of Himself to you with each new work: 
and my own dear boy makes you my daughter, 

Maria Wilcox, mother." 

My husband lost his mother when he was but seven years 
old ; and she died, as she had lived, in a little Connecticut town. 
Her name was Maria Wilcox. I never saw her, of course; 
and she was but a vague memory to my husband. That this 
absolute stranger from another state, who had never met my 
husband, should be able to produce this message filled with 
tender motherly pride, impressed me with a sense of awe and 
reverence for God's marvelous universe. I believed then, 
and I believe now, that in some manner impossible for the 



THE BEGINNINGS OF SUCCESS 71 

finite mind to explain, the curtain of infinity had swung aside 
for a moment, and that the lovely spirit that had been the 
mother of a rare son sent a word of greeting to me. I felt so 
satisfied and at peace that I did not for many years make any 
further attempts to communicate with worlds beyond. I 
had my message, without money, and without price, and with 
no possibility of collusion or fraud. I was satisfied to rest 
on that conviction. 

Several other messages were written for me on the slate 
that same evening; and one was signed "Shama Baba." Asked 
who he was, the answer came, "Shama Baba is your near 
guide. He is one of a band which dominates you. Do you 
not feel how much we have for you to do?" 

My husband, who was an earnest student of matters spir- 
itual, felt great interest in this message. Ever afterward he 
spoke of Shama Baba as a real personality in my life. If I 
was disappointed in any aim or desire, Robert would say: 
"Ella, Shama Baba is back of this; it must be for the best." 
Not two weeks before the sudden illness which ended his 
earth life he made this remark to me. 






CHAPTER IV 
"Maurine" and "Poems of Passion" 

IN the late seventies and early eighties there was much talk 
in the Western and in some of the Eastern newspapers, 
of the "Milwaukee School of Poetry." My name was used 
as its leader; though never at any time in my life have I ever 
wished to be regarded as a leader in anything. To work out 
my own life problems, and find my own way through earth's 
interesting, while puzzling, mazes, has seemed to me quite 
enough responsibility, without attempting to lead others. In 
this "School of Poetry" the editors named Carlotta Perry, 
Hattie Tyng Griswold, Sarah D. Hobart, Estella Aiken, 
Fanny Driscoll, Charles Noble Gregory and Grace Wells, 
besides other lesser stars. All of these writers were well 
known throughout the West, and several of them had attained 
recognition in the East. There was a brilliant clergyman in 
Milwaukee at that time, a man in his late sixties, who had sur- 
prised his congregation by marrying a handsome young school 
teacher in her middle twenties. 

The lady was very ambitious to make a shining place for 
herself socially; not among the purely fashionable people, but 
among the intellectuals. She desired to establish a Salon and 
to become the Madame de Stael of Milwaukee. Her husband 
was recognized as one of the leaders of thought — progressive 
religious thought of the day ; and he seemed, to many people, 
a composite Henry Ward Beecher and Ralph Waldo Emerson 
of the West. He possessed a handsome home and the best 
minds of Milwaukee gave him homage. His young wife felt 
her newly acquired high position to be one of pleasurable 
responsibility; and she aimed to supplement her husband's 
intellectual supremacy by her own mental graces. Unfortu- 
nately she lacked that subtle quality of tact; and while seek- 

72 



"MAURINE" AND "POEMS OF PASSION" 73 

ing to make herself a personage in her husband's congrega- 
tion, she was apt to antagonize instead. 

I had read of her gatherings of shining lights in the intel- 
lectual world of Milwaukee and I had regarded her from 
afar as a planet of the first magnitude. It can be understood, 
therefore, with what a mingled sense of awe and pride I went 
to my friend, Hattie, one day, and told her and her family a 
wonderful bit of news, namely: that Mrs. Salon (so we will 
call her) had spoken to me on the street and introduced her- 
self ; that she had said her husband was greatly pleased with 
a recent poem of mine entitled "The Voluptuary, ,, and that 
they would both like to have me spend a few days with them 
before I left the city. Hattie and her people thought it was 
a decided compliment; and I went forth to Mrs. Salon's 
home with great expectations in my imaginative heart. I pic- 
tured to myself brilliant gatherings of rare people to whom 
she would introduce me as her new-found protegee, and from 
whom I should imbibe inspiration and culture. Instead of 
this I passed two of the most wretched days of my existence 
under this lady's roof. I found the very first evening that 
she had invited me there to pick me to pieces, intending, I 
am sure, to rearrange the particles in a new order; and with 
an unquestionably worthy desire to benefit me. Very possibly 
she meant to exploit me after my re-creation was complete. 

She began her work by endeavoring to destroy every feel- 
ing of pleasure or satisfaction I had had regarding the kind 
words and praises of Western editors. She said these men only 
belittled me by their approval, as they knew nothing of real 
poetry or of what constituted good literature. One word from 
an Eastern editor or writer was worth more than columns of 
Western adulation, she said. Having finished the editors, my 
hostess proceeded to attack all my Milwaukee friends, declar- 
ing they were not the proper people to advance my interests. 
The attentions I had received from several young men she 
thought most compromising ; and she thrust a fierce sword of 
criticism into my poems containing sentiment; the "little 
love-wails" the editors had liked. She said I was going on 
in a way calculated to spoil all chance of a desirable mar- 



74 THE WORLDS AND I 

riage; and she finished her oration by declaring that senti- 
ment, romance and passion were all illusions, and that real 
marriage was based wholly on mental comradeship and re- 
spect. I listened to all the lady had to say and, being her 
guest, withheld the retort which sprang to my lips. Only 
when she attacked my good friends did I make my protest. 

But after I left her house and went to my country home I 
wrote her a letter. I thanked her for her hospitality, but I 
assured her that, while I appreciated her motive, her attempt 
to make me over must be abandoned. "I prefer," I said, ''to 
be a poor original of my own individual self than a good imi- 
tation of you. I must follow my own life, choose my own 
friends, and learn my own lessons as I go through life. If I 
make mistakes I must profit by them ; and profit will be more 
lasting than if I followed some course of conduct laid down 
by another which does not appeal to me." 

Mrs. Salon spoke of me afterward as an impossible young 
person who could not be helped by any one, and she seemed 
to see a disastrous end to my career. Her own career, how- 
ever, was not one which made me regret the position I had 
taken. Much trouble befell her in many ways and she became 
a victim to nervous disorders. The Salon was never estab- 
lished. 

This experience, like all other experiences, led me to write 
some verses. They were entitled : 

ADVICE 

I must do as you do? Your way I own 

Is a very good way. And still, 
There are sometimes two straight roads to a town, 

One over, one under the hill. 

You are treading the safe and the well-worn way, 

That the prudent choose each time ; 
And you think me reckless and rash to-day 

Because I prefer to climb. 

Your path is the right one, and so is mine, 
We are not like peas in a pod, 



"MAURINE" AND "POEMS OF PASSION" 75 

Compelled to lie in a certain line, 
Or else be scattered abroad. 

'Twere a dull old world, methinks, my friend, 

If we all went just one way ; 
Yet our paths will meet, no doubt, at the end, 

Though they lead apart to-day. 

You like the shade, and I like the sun ; 

You like an even pace, 
I like to mix with the crowd and run, 

And then rest after the race. 

I like danger, and storm and strife, 

You like a peaceful time, 
I like the passion and surge of life, 

You like its gentle rhyme. 

You like buttercups, dewy sweet, 

And crocuses, framed in snow; 
I like roses, born of the heat, 

And the red carnation's glow. 

I must live my life, not yours, my friend, 

For so it was written down ; 
We must follow our given paths to the end, 

But I trust we shall meet — in town. 



The poem which had pleased Mr. and Mrs. Salon was : 



THE VOLUPTUARY 

Oh, I am sick of love reciprocated, 

Of hopes fulfilled, ambitions gratified. 
Life holds no thing to be anticipated, 

And I am sad from being satisfied. 

The eager joy felt climbing up the mountain 
Has left me, now the highest point is gained. 

The crystal spray that fell from Fame's fair fountain 
Was sweeter than the waters were when drained. 

The gilded apple which the world calls pleasure, 
And which I purchased with my youth and strength, 



76 THE WORLDS AND I 

Pleased me a moment. But the empty treasure 
Lost all its luster, and grew dim at length. 

And love, all glowing with a golden glory, 

Delighted me a season with its tale. 
It pleased the longest, but at last the story 

So oft repeated, to my heart grew stale. 

I lived for self, and all I asked was given, 

I have had all, and now am sick of bliss, 
No other punishment designed by Heaven 

Could strike me half so forcibly as this. 

I feel no sense of aught but enervation 
In all the joys my selfish aims have brought, 

And know no wish but for annihilation, 

Since that would give me freedom from all thought. 

Oh, blest is he who has some aim defeated ; 

Some mighty loss to balance all his gain. 
For him there is a hope not yet completed ; 

For him hath life yet draughts of joy and pain. 

But cursed is he who has no balked ambition, 

No hopeless hope, no loss beyond repair, 
But sick and sated with complete fruition, 

Keeps not the pleasure even of despair. 

I had in my first score of years published two little books 
of verse. Then I grew ambitious to write a story in verse — ■ 
something that I felt must be as notable as "Lucille." There 
was, it may be seen, no limit to my faith in myself, or rather 
in the powers I believed were working through me. This 
belief I once expressed in a poem which has through all the 
years proved a mental and spiritual tonic to me in times of 
doubt or depression: 

ACHIEVEMENT 

Trust in thine own untried capacity 
As thou would trust in God Himself. 

Thy soul 
Is but an emanation from the whole. 
Thou dost not dream what forces lie in thee, 



"MAURINE" AND "POEMS OF PASSION" 77 

Vast and un fathomed as the grandest sea; 
Thy silent mind o'er diamond caves may roll, 
Go seek them — but let pilot will control 
Those passions which thy favoring winds can be. 

No man shall place a limit to thy strength ; 

Such triumphs as no mortal ever gained 

May yet be thine if thou wilt but believe 

In thy Creator and thyself. At length 

Some feet will tread all heights now unattained — 

Why not thine own ? Press on ; achieve ! Achieve ! 

I therefore set about thinking up my plot. I was at the old 
farmhouse in Westport and I used to drive over to Windsor 
for the mail in a little "buggy" behind a mature horse named 
"Burney," that my father had bought for such purposes; and 
I often used to stop at Emma's house and take her along 
with me. It was on a May day when, as I drove alone to 
Windsor, I thought of the plot of "Maurine" — the sacrifice 
of a maiden who discovered that her fragile girl friend loved 
the man who had won her own affections, but who had not yet 
declared himself. It was wholly imaginary, and, of course, 
had I ever experienced a real love, I could not have written 
such a story, because my tale made my heroine much stronger 
in her friendship than her love. As soon as I reached home 
and had unharnessed Burney, and put him in his stall, I be- 
gan "Maurine." The name was suggested by a short poem I 
had read recently by Nora Perry, called "Norine." 

I resolved to write ten lines each day on my story and if 
I missed one day from any cause, to write twenty the next. 
In this way I completed the book in October, besides doing 
much other literary work. In those days I used to write 
prose stories to help eke out my income. I sold these very 
crude and uninspired tales for ten or fifteen dollars, to the 
lesser magazines and weeklies. I remember feeling so elated 
when Peterson's Magazine published a story of mine in the 
same number with Frances Hodgson Burnett. She had not 
then come into her great fame, but I had recognized her 
genius, and felt honored to have my name appear near hers. 
My stories were all ground out with hard labor, and I dreaded 



78 THE WORLDS AND I 

the work of writing a story as much as I loved the writing of 
a poem. One tale was refused by ten editors and then sold 
to an eleventh, who paid me $75.00 for it. Such an hour of 
joyful surprise as that was ! Particularly so because the tenth 
editor had sent the worn manuscript back from his office with 
a marginal note : "This is a dead dog — better bury it." In- 
stead, after a few tears of mingled grief and anger, I gave 
my "dead dog" a new cover and sent it forth to crown me 
with triumph. 

That was a summer full of pleasure and hope — and happy 
dreams — the summer I devoted to writing "Maurine." My 
mother, always deeply interested in my work, felt I was to 
make a great success; and I planned a summer somewhere 
by the sea for her and me (the longed-for sea I had never 
yet beheld) through the proceeds of the book. 

My friend Hattie came from Milwaukee to visit me and 
was most enthusiastic over the poem; and Hattie was pos- 
sessed of fine and cultivated taste, so I valued her criticisms. 

Ella Giles, an accomplished and intellectual young woman, 
author of several books, came from Madison, and added her 
words of praise. Ella Giles afterward became Mrs. Ruddy, of 
Los Angeles, California, and died there recently, leaving a lus- 
trous name as a brilliant club woman and active suffragist, 
and writer of both prose and verse. I spent many hours with 
her the last year of her life. 

When my book was completed I made a visit to Chicago 
and called upon Jansen & McClung, expecting that staid firm 
eagerly to seize my proffered manuscript, which I thought 
was to bring me world-wide fame and fortune. Instead, it was 
declined with thanks and I was informed that they had never 
heard of me. After repeated efforts and failures, I induced 
a Wisconsin firm to get the book out. It barely paid ex- 
penses. But a little later I was made happy by having Jansen 
& McClung write and request the privilege of republishing 
the volume with additional short poems. It never, however, 
became a "best seller," but has seemed slowly to grow in 
favor with time. 

A perpetual dividend of pleasure resulted from "Maurine," 



"MAURINE" AND "POEMS OF PASSION" 79 

in the periodical discovery of girls named for my heroine. I 
had created the name, and therefore each child bearing it 
seemed to be, in a measure, my own. Once in San Francisco 
a photographer asked me to come and pose for him. He sent 
an exquisitely beautiful young daughter to bring me to his 
studio. She smilingly told me that her name might interest 
me. "It is Maurine Ramussen," she said. "My mother read 
your book before my birth." 

A few years later, Harrison Fisher "discovered" Maurine 
Ramussen, and exploited her on canvas and in Sunday sup- 
plements as a type of perfect beauty. I saw many portraits 
of her for a time; and I have often wondered what became 
of her. She is, I trust, somebody's happy wife. The photo- 
graph she gave me at that time but faintly shows her rare 
loveliness at sixteen. The youngest of my Maurines spends 
her summers at Granite Bay and is five years old and the 
possessor of glorious Titian hair — Maurine Manwaring, by 
name. In Chicago, too, there exists a "Maurine Club." It 
was the summer I wrote "Maurine" that I made a little song 
about the old Wisconsin home, beginning: 

This is the place that I love the best ; 
The little brown house like a ground bird's nest, 
Hid among grasses and vines and trees, 
Summer retreat of the birds and bees. 

The little house was brown from being weather-beaten and 
lacking paint. I longed to be able to buy paint enough to 
make it white with green blinds; but painters informed me 
that, being old wood, it would drink up paint as a toper drinks 
alcohol. I never attained the financial status which permitted 
me to buy the paint. But I trained vines to climb over the 
house, and each summer it was almost hidden by its wealth 
of wild vines brought each spring from the woods. One beau- 
tiful and rapid-growing vine with a fragrant blossom called 
the wild cucumber was my delight until I made a dread- 
ful discovery. Small snakes began to be seen about our yard 
every midsummer ; and a wise old settler explained the horri- 
ble invasion as due to the wild cucumber vine. He declared 



8o THE WORLDS AND I 

serpents were attracted by its odor and would come miles to 
enjoy it. Respecting the artistic temperament of the reptiles, 
I yet had to abandon the vine and substitute morning glories ; 
and after the wild cucumber was gone the serpents dis- 
appeared. 

Much of my earlier work was tinctured with melancholy 
both real and imaginary. Young poets almost invariably 
write of sorrow. When publishing "Maurine" I had pur- 
posely omitted more than twoscore poems of a very romantic 
and tragic nature in order to save the volume from too much 
sentiment. Letters began to come to me requesting copies 
of these verses — ardent love songs which had appeared in 
various periodicals. This suggested to me the idea of issuing 
a book of love poems to be called "Poems of Passion." To 
think was to do — for I possessed more activity than caution 
in those days. 

As just related, every poem in the book had been published 
in various periodicals and had brought forth no criticism. 
My amazement can hardly be imagined, therefore, when 
Jansen & McClung returned the manuscript of my volume, 
intimating that it was immoral, v I told the contents of their 
letter to friends in Milwaukee, and it reached the ears of a 
sensational morning newspaper. The next day a column arti- 
cle appeared with large headlines: 

"TOO LOUD FOR CHICAGO. 

THE SCARLET CITY BY THE LAKE SHOCKED 

BY A BADGER GIRL, WHOSE VERSES 

OUT-SWINBURNE SWINBURNE AND 

OUT-WHITMAN WHITMAN." 

Every newspaper in the land caught up the story and I 
found myself an object of unpleasant notoriety in a brief 
space of time. I had always been a local celebrity, but this 
was quite another experience. Some friends who had ad- 
mired and praised now criticized — though they did not know 
why. I was advised to burn my offensive manuscript and 
assured that in time I might live down the shame I had 
brought on myself. Yet those same friends had seen these 
verses in periodicals and praised them. 



"MAURINE" AND "POEMS OF PASSION" 81 

All this but stimulated me to the only vindication I de- 
sired — the publication of my book. A Chicago publisher saw 
his opportunity and offered to bring out the book, and it was 
an immediate success. It was afterward issued in London 
also, where it met with wide favor. The book contained 
scarcely fifty poems, and the criticism turned upon five or six 
of these. One was "The Farewell of Clariomond' , and was 
written after reading Theophile Gautier's story, "Clario- 
mond," a weird, strange tale, told with the power of great 
genius; yet although I gave his story credit for my verses, 
certain critics insisted on referring to my poem as a recital 
of my own immoral experiences! 

My knowledge of life was bounded by visits to Madison 
and Milwaukee, Chicago, and some lesser villages; and by 
books I had read and letters I had received from more or 
less intellectual people. The works of Gautier, Daudet, 
Ouida, with a bit of Shakespeare, Swinburne and Byron 
(I had never possessed an entire volume of any of these poets), 
no doubt lent to my vivid imagination and temperamental na- 
ture the flame which produced the censured verses. Were I 
to live my life over, with the wisdom of years and knowledge 
of the world to start with, I surely would not publish "Poems 
of Passion.'' Yet looking back across the years and realizing 
all that has ensued since that day, I feel that it was one of the 
stairs by which I was ordained to climb out of obscurity and 
poverty, through painfully glaring and garish light, into a 
clearer and higher atmosphere, and a larger world of useful- 
ness. 

The first proceeds of the sale of the book enabled me to 
rebuild and improve the old home, which was fast going to 
ruin. 

Life, which had been a slowly widening stream for me at 
this period, seemed to unite with the ocean of success and 
happiness. 

My engagement, not yet announced, occurred the week my 
book was issued. But there was, as ever in life, bitter in my 
cup of sweets. The majority of critics, while they increased 
the sales of "Poems of Passion" by their denunciations of it, 



82 THE WORLDS AND I 

also wounded me deeply by their unnecessarily vituperative 
attacks. Many friends, who I had believed would be my 
defenders, took an attitude of patronizing pity toward me 
which was harder to bear than outright disapproval, and 
others openly expressed their regret that I had not waited 
until I was "married or dead" before allowing the poems to 
appear. To which I replied : "So long as I believe them fit 
for publication at all, I do not feel I need a husband or tomb- 
stone to protect me from assaults of the public." 

Mr. Charles A. Dana, in the New York Sun, gave two col- 
umns of ridicule and condemnation to the book ; but he made 
the mistake (if he really wished to prevent the book's suc- 
cess) of quoting a full half column of lines wherein the 
highly disapproved word "kiss" was used. This brought me 
scores of letters, asking where the book could be purchased; 
and I wrote a note of thanks to Mr. Dana for his very unique 
method of advertising my book. Mr. Dana was exceedingly 
wroth at my note. 

In the Chicago Herald appeared this gracious item: "It 
is to be hoped that Miss Ella Wheeler will relapse into 
'Poems of Decency' now that the New York Sun has voiced 
the opinion of respectability that her 'Poems of Passion' are 
like the songs of half tipsy wantons." Yet, in spite of all 
this five hundred citizens of Milwaukee united to give me a 
wonderful testimonial of their approval. On a May night, 
at St. Andrew's Hall, eloquent speeches were made, my 
poems were recited, and a purse of five hundred dollars was 
presented to me. 

Mr. E. E. Chapin, Chairman, spoke of me as "standing 
forth to-day, a representative of the genius of poetry and 
song, of democracy and progress, of the young America 
motto on our State coat of arms." 

My friend Hattie came from her new home in Chicago to 
read, with most effective skill, several of my poems, and Col- 
onel M. A. Aldrich, the brilliant newspaper man (who had 
first conceived the idea of this testimonial reception), read 
for me lines I had written as a response in place of the speech 
which I knew I could not make. My lines were: 



"MAURINE" AND "POEMS OF PASSION" 83 

Speak for me, friend, whose lips are ever ready 
With chosen words, to voice another's thought; 

My shaken heart would make my tones unsteady; 
Speak thou the words I ought. 

Say that the love I give in lavish fashion, 

To all God's living creatures everywhere, 
Pervades me with a deep and holy passion, 

A wordless, grateful prayer. 

Say that the gifts I may have used too lightly, 
As children toss rare gems in careless mirth, 

From this glad hour, henceforth shall shine more brightly 
And prove their honest worth. 

Say that my life shall be one grand endeavor 
To reach a nobler womanhood's fair height ; 

Say how my earnest aim is to forever 
Be worthy of this night. 

In speaking of the evening afterward one editor compared 
me to "Corinne at the Capitol." I did not know who Corinne 
was; and so I looked her up, pleased to find myself compared 
to the Greek woman poet who in a trial of poetry had con- 
quered the great poet Pindar. 

It was a very wonderful night, and many wonderful things 
resulted from it as well as newspaper publicity, good and bad, 
pleasant and unpleasant. My brother wrote me that while 
the family was reading aloud the report of my ovation, the 
next day, a heavy rain was falling and he was placing pails 
and pans to catch the water leaking through the roof. My 
five hundred dollars was used to put a new roof on the old 
house, also an addition, much needed because of the advent 
of many nieces and nephews. 

The consciousness that I was able to do this for my family, 
as well as to send a niece away to school, made the ugly com- 
ments of many editors and critics endurable. One of these 
comments was headed, "A Protest against Ella Wheeler/* 
and another compared me to a dispenser of "poisoned candy/* 

Perhaps best of all the articles which appeared in the pa- 



84 THE WORLDS AND I 

pers at that time, I like the following taken from my old 
scrapbook : 

"The people of Milwaukee who interested themselves in 
giving Ella Wheeler a substantial reception did a graceful 
thing. The reception, the speeches, and the $500.00 purse will 
be to the talented, hard-working, cheery little song bird what 
reinforcements are to troops who have fought well. Thou- 
sands beside those who participated in the reception have 
watched the brave little soldier, valiantly fighting her way 
from obscurity to her present proud eminence, and have gone 
out to meet her with congratulations and good wishes. 

"The practical Milwaukee detachment was not content to 
move into line with cheers and platoons of praise only — so 
it pressed the paymaster into service and golden dollars 
wreathed the golden words. The reinforcements Ella 
Wheeler received last week, the columns of praise, the words 
of encouragement and the handful of gold will improve her 
generalship — will add new forces to her heart and brain, and 
the public will see the benefit. She is now no longer an un- 
known girl, a soldier on the frontier, but a literary general, 
whose words receive attention. Wisconsin is proud of Ella 
Wheeler, proud of her history, her courage, her talent and 
her promising future, and by words of commendation and 
more substantial aid the Commonwealth has encouraged and 
will encourage her daughter." 

A certain critic, who believed himself to be a prophet, 
thought the attention bestowed upon the book was most ab- 
surd, as its life, he said, at best would not extend beyond a 
twelvemonth. Yet now, after thirty- four years, the book 
still lives. 



CHAPTER V 
Two Amusing Near Romances 

TWO years before meeting the man who became my hus- 
band, I was invited to receive calls on New Year's day, 
with a lady in Chicago. Among the callers were two men, 
friends of the hostess; one a bachelor, very distinguished in 
appearance; one a lawyer close to sixty, very unattractive in 
person, but intellectual and a devotee of the Muses. My 
hostess told me he lived apart from a practical wife with 
whom he was not in sympathy, but there was no divorce — 
simply an understanding that they were happier apart. Both 
of these men were appreciative of my poetical gifts; and 
the bachelor invited my hostess and me to hear Bernhardt 
two evenings later. My hostess excused herself, on the plea 
of other engagements, and I went alone with the very agree- 
able and entertaining bachelor. After the theater we had a 
very cosy little supper at a fashionable restaurant; and what 
was my surprise, in the midst of the clatter of dishes and the 
surge of the orchestra, and the chatter of voices at neigh- 
boring tables, to have the bachelor in a very matter-of-fact 
manner ask me to become his wife. I gasped in astonish- 
ment, unable to take his words seriously. Here was a man 
I had seen only twice, and of whom I knew less than little, 
save as my hostess had told me he was respectable and much 
liked by people who knew him, and a successful financier, 
asking me on our second meeting the most important question 
which can be presented to a woman. 

"I do not want you to answer me now/' the bachelor said. 
"I merely want you to give me the opportunity to win you. 
I have been watching your career for two years ; and I made 
up my mind some time ago that you were intended for my 
wife. I am sure of it now we have met. But all I ask is 

85 



86 THE WORLDS AND I 

that you permit me to write to you for a month, and that 
you give me respectful and serious consideration as a suitor, 
and at the end of a month I will visit you and talk the matter 
over again." This was not at all my ideal of an ardent 
wooer; and although the man was decidedly attractive men- 
tally and physically, so far as personal appearance goes, he 
did not cause my pulses to quicken or my heart to accelerate 
its beats. I realized that he was in earnest, however, and 
consented to his very reasonable request for a month of trial 
wooing by letter. 

I was to pass the next month in Milwaukee, visiting among 
friends there ; and it so happened that a great deal of enter- 
tainment was provided for me. Not finding more serious 
subjects to discuss with my new correspondent, I wrote of the 
things which were occurring and of my enjoyments. When 
the month had expired, my bachelor appeared upon the scene, 
on one of my busiest days, and found me with several en- 
gagements and various callers, and a general condition of 
things not conducive to sentimentality. 

It was some hours before he and I were left quite alone. 
I had been dreading the moment, as I knew I must tell him 
the utter impossibility of ever regarding him as a life com- 
panion. But the wind was suddenly taken from my sails by 
the bachelor, who said: 

"You are dreading what you have to tell me; now let me 
relieve your mind by saying I no longer desire you to re- 
ceive me as a suitor. I am convinced by your letters, and 
your attitude since I came, that you are the type of woman 
who must have excitement continually, and who could never 
be satisfied with one loyal lover. I am sure it is necessary to 
your genius to have a retinue of admirers; but I could never 
play the role of the complacent husband; and since you are 
not at all in love with me, I will not attempt to make you so. 
We will be the best of friends and let it end at that." 

This was quite sensible, and the dilemma was solved. Yet 
it was a new experience to have a wooer take the words out 
of my mouth and decide such a matter for me ! So this near- 
romance ended as suddenly as it began. The bachelor mar- 



TWO AMUSING NEAR ROMANCES 87 

ried a very young girl not long thereafter; and he lived to 
amass a large fortune, and carve out a very brilliant career 
for himself. He lived also to see me most happy and con- 
tented with the love of one man, having found the right one. 
And we were good friends to the time of his death, though 
seldom meeting. 

The grass-widower lawyer, meanwhile, often wrote me 
letters concerning my literary work. His letters were bril- 
liant and interesting and often helpful. They contained no 
hint of sentiment. After I had met my lover, I intimated the 
fact to the lawyer, who warned me, in a fatherly manner, to 
be careful and not make a mistake which could not be easily 
rectified. When "Poems of Passion" was about to be pub- 
lished the lawyer asked to see the contract, and suggested 
some few changes. Once while visiting Chicago he invited 
my hostess and me to lunch with him in a downtown restau- 
rant after we had been shopping. 

It was something like two months after my marriage that 
I received a bill for "Professional Services ,, from this lawyer. 
In surprise I wrote and asked what the professional services 
had been. The amazing reply was, "The bill is for advice 
on your contract with your publishers and for a lunch where 
you ordered such expensive luxuries as frogs' legs!" 

I paid the bill and never heard from my intellectual and 
thrifty-minded friend again. Relating the experience to my 
hostess at whose house I had met the man, she seemed sur- 
prised that I had not realized the romantic nature of the 
man's interest in me; but no such thought had ever entered 
my mind. Sixty years old and with a living wife, how could 
I imagine such a possibility? 

In the forenoon of a February day in 1883 I boarded the 
train at Windsor, Wisconsin, for the ten-mile ride to 
Madison. Judge and Mrs. A. B. Braley had asked me to go 
with them to the Inaugural Ball of the Governor that evening. 
In my suit case I carried a pretty white gown, trimmed with 
narrow bands of swansdown, made for the occasion. The 
day was bright and clear and my heart was very light. Life 
seemed a joyous thing. Suddenly as I took my seat in the 



88 THE WORLDS AND I 

coach I saw a young woman clothed in deepest black, her face 
partially hidden by her black-bordered handkerchief, her form 
shaking with the sobs she was trying to suppress. It was 
the bride of a year, the widow of a week, a lovely girl I had 
last seen radiant with happiness. 

I sat beside her for a little while, just as we were approach- 
ing Madison, and her great sorrow seemed to envelop me. 
All the way up to Judge Braley's home I thought of her and 
felt I could not enjoy my visit because of her grief. 

But I found my friends delighted to welcome me, and the 
young wife of the brilliant Judge had so many interesting 
plans for my entertainment that the incident of the day passed 
entirely from my mind. That evening, as I stood before the 
mirror, putting the last touches to my white toilet, a swift 
vision of the young widow in her weeds came before me. 
With a stricken conscience I realized how quickly I had for- 
gotten her; and I pictured to myself the dark shadows she 
must have carried into the home she was visiting, and con- 
trasted it with the brightness of my own environment. It 
was at that moment the poem "Solitude" was conceived — 
the first four lines coming at once in their present form. 

Laugh and the world laughs with you, 

Weep and you weep alone. 
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, 

It has trouble enough of its own. 

I knew they were the nucleus of a longer poem, and simply 
tucked them away in the pigeon-hole of my brain until I 
should have leisure to complete the verses. The majority of 
my poetical creations have come in this way, a line or a stanza 
first at unexpected times and in places where I could not, at 
once, complete them. From the very beginning I learned to 
carry such an idea with me, and work it out at leisure. 

The following morning at the breakfast table I recited 
the quatrain to the Judge and his wife, acquainting them with 
the cause of the inspiration. Both were enthusiastic and the 
Judge, who was a great Shakespearean scholar, said, "Ella, 
if you keep the remainder of the poem up to that epigram- 



TWO AMUSING NEAR ROMANCES 89 

matic standard, you will have a literary gem." It was not 
until the second night thereafter that I found time to com- 
plete the poem. We came home from a theater-party and I 
told my friends I was going to sit up and finish the poem. 

There are certain small incidents in all our lives which 
make an enduring impression on memory. Such an incident 
was that of taking my verses into the library where Judge 
Braley sat smoking his morning cigar and reading them to 
him and his wife, after warning them that I felt I had not 
kept up to the standard first set by my muse. I can still see 
the look on the very handsome face of the Judge as he lis- 
tened with increasing interest, and I can still hear his deep 
voice lifted in quick spontaneous praise, in which his fair 
young wife joined. The cigar the Judge was smoking had 
gone out and he stood up to relight it. He was six feet in 
height and he had a peculiar little trick of bending one knee 
back and forth when he stood talking. This knee was very 
active as he puffed at the freshly lighted cigar and said: 
''Ella, that is one of the biggest things you ever did; and 
you are mistaken in thinking it is uneven in merit; it is all 
good and up to the mark." 

I sent the poem to the New York Sun, received five dollars 
therefor, and it appeared in its columns February 21st, 1883, 
over my maiden name, Ella Wheeler. The verses became 
remarkably popular and were recited and copied so widely 
that they became hackneyed. In May, 1883, the poem was 
included in my book, "Poems of Passion." I have the orig- 
inal manuscript copy in one of the many manuscript books 
where all the poems I considered worth preserving were 
copied, with date and place of writing. 

In 1885, a year after I had added Wilcox to my name and 
gone East to reside, a man of whom the literary world had 
never heard, Mr. John Joyce, of Washington, heard the poem 
recited and heard some one ask who wrote it. Mr. Joyce 
immediately declared himself as the author. I have no idea 
that he was wholly responsible for his words at that time, as 
I had been told that he was very much addicted to drink — a 
habit which he afterwards, it is said, overcame, greatly to his 



go THE WORLDS AND I 

credit. I, of course, indignantly denied his claim, putting 
forth my own true story, as given above. Mr. Joyce, how- 
ever, having uttered his lie, deliberately repeated it on every 
possible occasion from that day to the day of his death, some 
three or four years ago. He declared that he wrote the poem 
in 1 86 1 on the head of a whiskey barrel in the wine room of 
the Gait House in Louisville, Kentucky. He had published a 
book entitled "A Checkered Life" in 1883, together with a 
number of very trashy verses. In that volume Mr. Joyce had 
given the story of his life from youth to maturity. He even 
admitted the fact that he had, in his early life, been the in- 
mate of an insane asylum for a period of a few months. To 
quote his own statement I give the following memorandum 
in "A Checkered Life." 

"Eastern Kentucky Lunatic Asylum, 
Lexington, Kentucky. 

"The records of this asylum show No. 2423, John A. Joyce, 
18 years of age; occupation, farmer; habit, temperate; original 
disposition and intellect good; cause, heredity; form of mania, 
perpetual motion. Admitted June 20th, i860: discharged Sep- 
tember, i860. 

W. A. Bullock, M. D. 
Medical Superintendent." 

Mr. Joyce's book was written while he was serving a term 
in prison for whiskey frauds. The book contained twenty- 
three so-called poems, supposedly all he had ever written. 
Naturally it did not contain "Solitude" because I had not 
then composed it. I have a copy of the first edition of this 
book in my possession. Yet two years later after my poem 
became famous, the man claimed that he had written "Soli- 
tude" in 1 861. Why should he have omitted it from this 
book? In 1885, Mr. Joyce issued a new edition of the book, 
inserting the poem under the title, "Laugh, and the World 
Laughs With You," but retaining the copyright date of 1883. 

My husband wished to start a suit for damages, but was 
urged by acquaintances to drop it, as they said the general 
impression of Mr. Joyce was that he was "a harmless old 



TWO AMUSING NEAR ROMANCES 91 

lunatic whose words no one took seriously." But Mr. Joyce 
proved himself seriously annoying up to the day of his 
death. He never allowed more than two years to pass with- 
out finding some obscure paper in which he could again set 
forth his claims to my poem. I repeatedly made an offer 
of $5,000.00 to be given to charity, when any one could pro- 
duce a copy of "Solitude" published prior to February, 1883. I 
finally offered to present to any charitable institution he 
might select, in his name, that amount of money, when Mr. 
Joyce produced his proof. Of course it was never forth- 
coming; and yet he claimed the poem had been in circulation 
for twenty years before I wrote it. 

I believe my experience one which nearly every author has 
known at some time in his or her career. Though misery 
may like company, the fact does not prevent one's own suf- 
fering, when made the victim of a man of this type, who 
belongs to the poison insect order of humanity. He is only 
an insect, and yet his persistent buzz and sting can produce 
great discomfort. 



CHAPTER VI 

The Compelling Lover 

T N my dreams of the compelling lover who would one day 
■*• come into my life, I always imagined a sudden and ro- 
mantic meeting. Never did it occur to me that I could drift 
leisurely into love's sea on the river of friendship. At 
sixteen I was one day at a party where a certain young man 
named Charlie was the beau ideal of every girl in the room, 
as well as the favorite of the whole country town. He was 
tall, handsome, a good dancer, better educated than almost 
any other of our young men, and was then teaching 
school in a near neighborhood. I had known him from the 
time I could remember. At this social gathering, he and I 
sat side by side during the repast; and Charlie grew a bit 
sentimental and said to me: "Ella, why is it you never seem 
to care for me as the other girls do?" "I do care for you," 
I replied: "I like you immensely and am always glad to see 
you." "But you do not care for me as other girls do," 
Charlie replied, with a very tender glance of his beautiful 
black eyes. "If you mean sentimentally, that is true," I an- 
swered. "I know most of the girls are very much infatuated 
with you in that way. And now you mention the matter, it 
is rather curious that I do not feel any sentiment for you. 
You are just my type; your looks please me; and you are in 
every way the sort to arouse my romantic nature. The only 
explanation I can give of your failure to do so, is that I have 
played T spy* around the hay stack with you since I could 
walk; and there is no novelty about you. Perhaps if you 
went away for five years and came home new I might be- 
come interested." Charlie laughed and said he thought he 
would try the experiment. 

Curiously enough he did go away to college soon after, 
92 



THE COMPELLING LOVER 93 

and it was just five years before we met again; but he had 
broken two girls' hearts in the meantime, and was then study- 
ing for the ministry; and life for me had utterly changed, as 
well. 

When the real lover who was to dominate my life through 
time, and to retain my love through eternity, came upon the 
scene, all the romantic elements of which I had dreamed en- 
tered into the experience. I was visiting at the home of Col- 
onel and Mrs. Benjamin on Prospect Avenue, Milwaukee. An 
evening entertainment was to take place, and I was making a 
few purchases for the occasion, in the way of gloves and 
ribbons. Fearing the hour was growing late, I stepped inside 
the largest jewelry establishment of the city and asked the 
proprietor (who was an intimate friend of my host) for the 
time. I was there but two or three moments, at longest ; but 
those moments were the turning point of my destiny; the 
great crisis of my earth existence; the psychological moment 
which had no doubt been arranged by the Lords of Karma 
for my future happiness and development. 

I was so occupied with my plans for the evening, and so 
anxious lest I keep my friends waiting their dinner, that I 
paid no attention to the occupants of the shop outside of the 
proprietor, who gave me the time. I departed all unaware of 
the wonderful event which was already registered in my life. 

This has always struck me as a peculiarly pronounced ex- 
pression of the way destiny slaps our self-conceit when we 
imagine we can foresee the events in our own lives. 

Since early girlhood I had been expecting the coming of 
the Prince Royal to take possession of the kingdom of my 
heart. No matter what else life held for me or did not hold 
for me, that was the central event on which my idea of hap- 
piness turned. 

I was in no haste for his coming, yet life was filled with an 
agreeable expectancy at the thought of his possible approach, 
and I was ever on the watch for his arrival. Many false pre- 
tenders to the throne had come and gone; yet I knew some- 
where waited the rightful Prince, and some day he would 
come and claim his own. 



94 THE WORLDS AND I 

Of this mysterious being in the realm of the future, I had 
written years before: 

Across the miles that stretch between, 
Through days of gloom or glad sunlight; 

There shines a face I have not seen 

Which yet doth make my whole world bright. 

He may be near, he may be far — 

Or near or far I cannot see ; 
But faithful as the morning star 

He yet shall rise and come to me. 

What though fate leads us separate ways? 

The world is round and time is fleet. 
A journey of a few brief days 

And face to face we two shall meet. 

Shall meet beneath God's arching skies 
While sun shall blaze or stars shall gleam, 

And looking in each other's eyes 
Shall hold the past but as a dream. 

But round and perfect and complete 

Life like a star shall climb the height 
As we two press with willing feet 

Together toward the Infinite. 

And still behind the space between, 
As back of dawns the sunbeams play, 

There shines the face I have not seen 
Whose smile shall wake my world to-day. 

And yet at that long-expected moment, when I was really 
in the same room with my Prince, no least intimation came to 
me ; no sensation of any unusual kind ; no impression to pre- 
pare me for what was to follow. Completely absorbed in the 
trivial affairs of the hour, I went my way unconscious that I 
had reached life's greatest crisis. 

It was some three or four days thereafter that in my al- 
ways large mail there came a very distinguished-looking let- 
ter in a blue envelope. I was accustomed to receiving let- 
ters from strangers, who from the time I began to write felt 



THE COMPELLING LOVER 95 

called upon to offer me either their criticisms or their praises ; 
their approval or their disapproval. (It has always seemed 
to me that my path leads through two rows of individuals: 
one flinging rocks and mud, one casting bouquets at my feet) 
Therefore, a strange penmanship did not surprise me. What 
interested me was the very unusual chirography and the effec- 
tive stationery. The letter was written from the State of Geor- 
gia on a rainy Sunday afternoon ; and it stated that the writer, 
one Robert Wilcox by name, in attending to business for his 
firm (what is now the International Silver Company, of New 
York), had been in the jeweler's establishment when I en- 
tered that day, and he had inquired of the proprietor who the 
young lady was; and had learned my name. He asked if it 
might not be his good fortune on his next visit to Milwaukee, 
some three months distant, to be introduced by our mutual 
friend. Unlike the other strangers who wrote me, he made 
no mention of my poems; he merely asked to be presented. 
I knew, of course, that any conventionally reared young 
woman would consider this a most irregular manner of mak- 
ing the acquaintance of a stranger. I knew it was, according 
to established ideas, bordering on impropriety; yet I so 
greatly admired the penmanship and the stationery of my 
would-be acquaintance that I was curious to know more of 
him. 

Having received many letters from men in my life, I did 
not become a prude at that moment. I replied to Mr. Wilcox 
that he could not call as I should not be in Milwaukee on the 
date he mentioned ; but I asked him what had prompted him to 
write me. This, of course, gave him the opportunity to write 
again. Then ensued the most interesting correspondence it 
has ever been my fortune to enjoy. They were not love let- 
ters; they were beautiful, unusual, educating, broadening, 
witty, and sometimes a bit daring; but never sentimental. I 
have them still — more precious than their weight in diamonds. 

Mr. Wilcox told me about himself; about his being an 
orphan at the age of seven; and of the dear "Aunt Hattie" 
who had reared him along with her five daughters after the 
death of his lovely grandmother. He told me of his travels 



96 THE WORLDS AND I 

through Russia, Norway, and Sweden, as well as all other 
European countries, and he sent me books to read. The very 
first book he sent was Thomas a Kempis's "Imitation of 
Christ" ; the next was the "Cross of Burney" ; then some of 
Gautier's works; "The Magic Skin"; and many others, 
always good literature. He told me he was a bachelor and 
would never marry: he had too many duties and obliga- 
tions to relatives. I told him this made him more interesting 
as a correspondent, because I was very tired of men who be- 
came easily sentimental ; that I was a very busy young woman 
also with many growing obligations to fulfil before I thought 
of marriage. He came West twice during our correspond- 
ence of five months, and I refused each time to see him; I 
was at my country home, and the house was crowded with 
little nephews and nieces, and everything was commonplace 
and every one was worried; and I felt I wanted to enjoy his 
letters without any jarring note entering into this purely 
intellectual correspondence. The letters always came in blue 
envelopes of a very beautiful shade and even the sight of one 
in my mail lent the day dignity; the crest on the paper 
seemed to lead me away from everything banal and common. 
One day a curious little parcel came in the never-to-be-mis- 
taken penmanship. It was narrow and long and I opened it 
wondering what it could be. It was an odd paper-cutter of 
sandalwood and copper, carved with oriental figures, some- 
thing unlike anything I had ever seen. 

Now I do not know how to account for the effect of this 
trifle upon me. The home was particularly depressing at 
that time. There was a great shortage of money, and no one 
seemed able to provide the needed commodity. Some years 
before my oldest brother with his lovely wife and two little 
sons had gone to Dakota to battle with the elements and the 
beetles and grasshoppers for success as a ranchman. His 
life was a valiant fight against Nature's obstacles. 

My sister, wife of a good man and a good physician, lived 
in Illinois. Doctors were overworked and underpaid in that 
locality and time. The climate was malarial. The loss of 
her first children and her subsequent broken health for a 



THE COMPELLING LOVER 97 

period of years had caused me much solicitude, and had 
awakened in me a great desire to be of comfort to her and 
her living children, who had inherited her musical talents. 
Another brother lived at home with an ever-increasing fam- 
ily. I do not remember that any of them ever asked a favor 
of me; but my heart was always torn with sympathy for 
them and for my aging parents: and there was ever an urge 
from within to relieve needs and improve conditions. My 
mother was overworked and very irritable. It can be readily 
understood that there existed that state of internal discord 
which more frequently than otherwise pervades an atmos- 
phere where in-laws live under one roof. 

My nature craved peace. I was born with great longing 
lor harmonious surroundings. My mother, who would will- 
ingly have died for me, was yet not willing to control her 
temper, or restrain the sharp word which brought on family 
quarrels, as no one of them had learned self-control. I felt 
sorry for all of them and I was able clearly to see the wrongs 
existing on both sides. I urged my mother that, as hers was 
the stronger intellect, it was her duty to show the larger self- 
control and forbearance toward another woman worn into 
irritability with excessive child-bearing. I tried also to make 
her understand that the absence of the pleasures and luxuries 
of the world which she grieved over in my life were not as 
painful to me as discord and inharmony at home., Every 
penny I gave her for family expenses and every bill I paid 
wrung her heart with anguish, because she wanted me to be 
able to save my income for myself. 

What hurt me most keenly was to have her remind others 
of my sacrifices — a thing which destroys all the benefit of a 
gift. 

It was into this unhappy atmosphere that the little paper- 
knife came. At the sight of it something seemed to grip me 
about the heart with a band that awakened every deep emo- 
tion in my nature. A panorama spread before me of beauty, 
peace, comfort, luxury, love. All the mean and unlovely 
phases of life dropped away, and I was lifted into a world of 
which I had dreamed sometimes when reading a rare poem, 



98 THE WORLDS AND I 

or hearing lovely music, or in the perusal of some of Ouida's 
exotic descriptions. I was shaken by storms of tears, and 
yet I did not know what I was crying about. Certainly no 
thought of the sender of the little gift, as a possible lover, 
entered my head at that moment. It was only that the gift 
seemed to be an expression of a world so at variance with 
my own that the contrast overwhelmed me. I was then 
preparing to bring out "Poems of Passion." The publishers 
sent me a telegram one February day to come to Chicago. In 
the Windsor post-office, on my way to the train, I found a 
letter in a blue envelope, saying the writer of it would be in 
Chicago that day and he hoped for a line from me while there. 
My first impulse was to go to Chicago and return without 
sending him any word until afterward. I was newly un- 
happy; matters had come to a critical state at home, and un- 
less certain bills were paid within a few weeks I knew there 
would be public comment, hard to bear. Money was due 
me from various editors, but I could not demand it in ad- 
vance. I was in this state of mind, feeling life was a mere 
tragedy of the utterly commonplace, when I suddenly de- 
cided I would send Mr. Wilcox a note, at the Grand Pacific 
Hotel, saying I was at the Palmer House and that he might 
call. I was with a lovely friend who lived there, dear Mrs. 
Tallman, who with her devoted husband was my faithful 
friend to the hour of her death. Mr. Wilcox called and 
I saw him in the hotel reception room. I was so numb and 
sick with my home worries that I had only a sense of his 
great aloofness. He was exceptionally fine looking, strong, 
manly, in the prime of life, very correctly dressed, very cul- 
tured in manner, and his voice was remarkable for its deep 
beauty. He seemed to my poor and troubled mind like a 
man from Mars. He served to make my own home show 
more miserably than ever in my eyes by the contrast of what 
he suggested with his great composure, his quiet dignity, and 
his air of cosmopolitan breeding. I went back to my coun- 
try home feeling a vast loneliness. I thought I could no 
longer enjoy his letters ; I believed he must have felt the wide 
difference between us, just as I felt it. 



THE COMPELLING LOVER 99 

I was owing him a letter, but I did not write it. After 
three weeks there came a plaintive note from him saying, 
"Of course, I know how horribly disappointed you were after 
seeing my ugly phiz; I saw your disgust in your eyes; but 
you might, at least, drop a fellow gently and not with a sick- 
ening thud; you might, at least, write and tell me if you re- 
ceived the book I sent just before we met." 

(This letter was not a pose; as I afterward realized, this 
most attractive and magnetic man was without one atom of 
vanity and actually thought himself ugly. I have seen him 
go out of his way to cross a room trying to avoid looking in 
a mirror.) 

The correspondence was resumed on its purely literary 
basis. I borrowed money from the bank, and paid the worri- 
some debts. Money came to me from editors sooner than 
I expected. My friend, Hattie, in Milwaukee, asked me to 
be her bridesmaid; and her mother asked me to come to the 
house and have my gown for the occasion made there. With 
the suddenness of an April day after a long March of storm 
my spirits rose to joyfulness again. It was on April 20th, 
just two months after my first meeting with Mr. Wilcox, that 
the Lords of Karma again took my destiny in hand. 

My correspondent had written me that he would not be 
in the West again before June; yet there at the post-office, 
as I took my train to Milwaukee, was another letter from him 
saying that he had been called West again and would be in 
Milwaukee on April 20th, at the Plankinton House, and 
would I send him a line there or to Chicago the following 
day? Instead, a message was sent to him at the hotel giv- 
ing him my city address. An hour later came a magnificent 
basket of flowers (I have the basket yet) and in it a note ask- 
ing if he could call. My hostess was so charmed with the great 
floral gift that she urged me to see him ; and I sent him a note 
saying he might call for half an hour only, as we were all so 
busy with the wedding preparations we had to economize 
time. My trunk had not yet come up from the station, so I 
wore a simple little house gown of the bride-to-be when I 
went in to meet my caller. He remained three hours, and 



ioo THE WORLDS AND I 

missed his train to Chicago. That night he wrote his first 
love letter; and after he left me, I went up to my friend's 
room and, greatly to her astonishment, began to weep wildly. 
The same strange state of mingled ecstasy and misery which 
the little paper-knife had caused, took possession of me. I 
knew I was at last and forever desperately in love. But not 
until I received his letter the next afternoon did I know that 
the feeling was mutual. 

The heavenly luster which shone over my world for the 
next few weeks cannot be described. I walked on air; and 
every breath was a stimulant. Never did bridesmaid glow 
with such unutterable joy as I when I stood by Hattie's side 
in the church, during the marriage ceremony, and dared 
harbor the hope that my own wedding might be in the near 
future ; and that I might hear the sacred words pronounced 
which would make me the wife of my Prince of Lovers. 

We were married a year and two days later. During that 
year I never met any one who knew Robert Wilcox outside of 
business acquaintances. 

The few friends to whom I confided my engagement were 
greatly concerned lest I should find disaster and disillusion- 
ment at the end of my rainbow of promise. But the dis- 
illusionment never came. Instead, during thirty-two years of 
marriage, life grew in radiance and beauty, and I lived to 
realize my early poem written years before : 

I DREAM 

Oh, I have dreams. I sometimes dream of Life 

In the full meaning of that splendid word. 

Its subtle music which few men have heard, 
Though all may hear it, sounding through earth's strife. 

Its mountain heights by mystic breezes kissed, 

Lifting their lovely peaks above the dust ; 

Its treasures which no touch of time can rust, 
Its emerald seas, its dawns of amethyst, 

Its certain purpose, its serene repose, 

Its usefulness, that finds no hour for woes, 
This is my dream of Life. 



THE COMPELLING LOVER 101 

Yes, I have dreams. I ofttimes dream of Love 

As radiant and brilliant as a star. 

As changeless, too, as that fixed light afar 
Which glorifies vast worlds of space above. 
Strong as the tempest when it holds its breath, 

Before it bursts in fury ; and as deep 

As the unfathomed seas, where lost worlds sleep, 
And sad as birth, and beautiful as death. 

As fervent as the fondest soul could crave, 

Yet holy as the moonlight on a grave. 
This is my dream of Love. 

Yes, yes, I dream. One oft-recurring dream 

Is beautiful and comforting and blest, 

Complete with certain promises of rest, 
Divine content, and ecstasy supreme; 
When that strange essence, author of all faith, 

That subtle something which cries for the light, 

Like a lost child who wanders in the night, 
Shall solve the mighty mystery of Death ; 

Shall find eternal progress, or sublime 

And satisfying slumber for all time. 
This is my dream of Death. 



CHAPTER VII 

Steps Up Spiritual Stairways 

T\iT ANY women remember the months preceding their mar- 
***• riage as the happiest, the most romantic time of their 
lives. Not so I. My somewhat painful prominence as the 
author of "Poems of Passion" made me desirous of keeping 
my coming marriage a strict secret from the public. I knew 
once it was even suspected, there would be a fusillade of news- 
paper thrusts, which would destroy the sacredness and beauty 
of the happiness which promised to be mine. I remained very 
closely in my country home, only going a few times that year 
to Milwaukee to visit friends, and on those occasions my lover 
saw me there. 

These friends, at whose home I was later married, while 
meaning to be kind and solicitous for my welfare, made me 
very uncomfortable. They had urged me the year previous 
to encourage the attentions of a man of means, living in the 
East, who was uncongenial to me. They thought me very 
foolish to expect a great romance to come into my life: they 
said those things existed more in books than in reality. When 
they saw me swept away by a great romance, they were sus- 
picious of the lover in the case. They warned me that he 
was such a man of the world and so attractive to women that 
I need take much he said with an interrogation mark after 
it. They also urged against allowing him to visit me in my 
country home, assuring me that he would never continue his 
interest in me after a visit there. They were, too, opposed to 
my spending my money on repairing the old home. Never- 
theless I repaired it; and the very first day it was finished my 
lover came and made his first visit and met my family for 
the first time. 

My experiences in building the new addition on the house 



STEPS UP SPIRITUAL STAIRWAYS 103 

were not all agreeable. My father was aging noticeably, both 
physically and mentally ; and from the time I began to 
earn a considerable income he had ceased to feel much re- 
sponsibility about money matters. He used to say: "Let 
Elly attend to this," when my mother spoke of family needs. 
My father had shown decided appreciation of my talents from 
the beginning, even though he used to worry about the amount 
of postage I used in sending out my various manuscripts. A 
phrenologist once said that my father's head was strikingly 
like that of Daniel Webster, save that an enormous bump of 
caution prevented him from putting into use many of his 
splendid abilities. It was this caution which made him anxious 
about the postage I used ; but after the checks began to come 
in and my poems began to win approval, he was very appre- 
ciative. I remember one time when he made a business trip 
out to Iowa for a few days, a very unusual event in his life, 
his coming up to my room in the early morning of his 
return and waking me to tell of an experience he had had in 
Iowa. He had met a man at the hotel who was most en- 
thusiastic about some poem of mine, and he and this man had 
sat up the whole night talking about me. I think no com- 
pliment I ever received from the public pleased or touched 
me more than this. 

In his early life in Vermont, my father had learned to be 
handy with hammer and saw ; and after he came to Wisconsin 
he put this knowledge to practical use. When I planned the 
addition to the house I, of course, employed a professional 
carpenter ; but my father was very insistent that he knew how 
to plan and put up the addition better than the carpenters. 
There was some small repairing of another part of the house 
which my father was doing at his own expense ; and he seemed 
to feel that the entire work was of his own doing. Twice he 
became so critical and fault-finding that the carpenters threw 
down their tools and told me they were leaving. The last 
occasion of this nature was only a week before I expected 
the visit of my lover. I went into a paroxysm of tears and 
when my father saw this, he relented and so did the car- 
penters, who resumed work. 



104 THE WORLDS AND I 

I was, as a rule, a very cheerful person, and not given 
to tears in public: it took some big crisis to produce such a 
result. But when the house was done, I was almost a nervous 
wreck. One thing remains to this day, or did the last time I 
was ever in the old house, to remind me of my father's un- 
reasonable interference. When the wardrobe off the new bed- 
room was all ready for the masons, I went in and found the 
beams which were to hold the hooks raised so high that it 
necessitated a foot-stool to reach them. I had told the carpen- 
ters myself a few days before where I wanted them placed 
(to accommodate my five feet, three inches and a half in 
height), but my father informed me that he had raised them, 
as it was (I am sure he began his sentence with a word begin- 
ning with D) "poor carpentry work to have them so low 
down." The masons were all ready with their plaster when 
I made the discovery, so the room had to be finished that 
way. Only an Amazon in height would find it convenient. 

It was really the beginning of my father's broken state of 
mind, which caused him to be a mere child during his later 
years. From being almost a dandy in his early life and the 
neatest of men, he had, at this time, grown very careless in 
his attire. This troubled me, naturally; and I tried to rouse 
him out of such a state. I was the only one who had any 
influence over him. Before the coming of my lover I had 
bought my father a new suit of clothes and a new hat; and I 
asked him on the morning of the expected visit to don these 
clothes. He stubbornly refused. I explained the importance 
of the occasion and he replied that if any city man was coming 
there and did not like his appearance, he could go right away 
again ; he did not propose to change his habits or his clothes 
in his own home to suit the whim of callers. I think, perhaps, 
that was the moment of my life when I touched bottom in 
despair. My mother started into the fray, but I begged her 
to desist, as she only served to rouse still further my father's 
stubbornness. But again my state of abject misery brought 
on a torrent of tears, and again my father relented and attired 
himself in the new clothes. (I remember that I took his old 
hat away and burned it up and that, after the departure of 



STEPS UP SPIRITUAL STAIRWAYS 105 

my visitor, I had to confess this fact to him, and he was so 
displeased that for a period of some ten days he went about 
bareheaded to show me his disapproval of the act.) 

Yet in spite of all this, and in spite of the predictions of 
my Milwaukee friends, my lover was not repelled by my home 
conditions. I do not remember much happiness during that 
visit, however. There was a brood of small children and 
their mother and father and grandparents were all nervously 
worn with the conditions which had been created by years 
of wrong thought and lack of self-control. Save the love 
and pity I sent out to them all, there was little love in the 
atmosphere : and I was on tenter-hooks every moment of the 
time my lover was there, lest some painful upheaval occur. 
Yet I know that every one of them, deep in their hearts, felt 
love and gratitude toward me and desired my best happiness : 
and all of them felt an admiring reverence for the splendid 
rnan who had come into my life. 

(^ They had seen many admirers about me ; and through a long 
girlhood had seen me interested at various times, but never 
before swept away completely by an overwhelming emotion. 
So they were really on their best behavior ; for which I 
fervently thanked them when the visit was over, besides thank- 
ing God, on my knees that night, as I always did for every 
least favor. 

Before my lover came, I had been anxious in my mind re- 
garding what he might think of my having dabbled, to the 
extent already mentioned, in matters psychic. I knew he was 
reared by orthodox relatives in New England, and I knew 
he was, at the same time, a cosmopolitan who had grown 
broad in his ideas, through extensive reading and through 
extensive travel. In his letters he expressed great reverence 
for the Creator and a strong belief in prayer and in the pres- 
ence of guardian angels. But I had an idea that he might 
think me weak or unwise or uncanny, if he knew I had any 
interest in psychic phenomena. So, when suddenly, in one 
of our talks, he said to me, "Have you ever looked into this 
matter of communication with the spirits of our dead friends ?" 
I trembled to the marrow of my bones ; but I replied honestly, 



106 THE WORLDS AND I 

"Yes, I have, and I believe it sometimes occurs." Then I 
waited for my sentence of disapproval. Instead, with a very 
beautiful smile, my lover said : "I am so glad you be- 
lieve this. I do. The subject interests me greatly." So 
another hurdle was safely leaped in my adventurous ride 
toward happiness. 

At this moment, as I write of this occurrence, I am filled 
with a sense of profound awe at the consciousness of the 
important part this sympathy between us on all subjects per- 
taining to spiritual matters has played in my life. It has 
been, indeed, the very rock-bed foundation of my wonderful 
love life of thirty-two years with this rare soul. 

The friends of my husband who knew him only in his busi- 
ness life would, no doubt, be astounded at such a statement 
of mine. He was not quickly understood by those who met 
him. A practical business man, with agreeable manners and 
the most winning voice, and a well read man, was what most 
people would say of him. Only to a few, possessed of under- 
standing, did he reveal his peculiarly spiritual qualities. Not 
until the first year of my life with him was I aware of his 
open vision and his ability to see and hear on planes not 
visible to the physical eye and ear. When I did become 
aware of this, he warned me not to speak of it freely, as he, 
himself, did not understand the laws connected with it and 
was afraid to have it known. He had, however, he con- 
fessed to me, since a child, at times been conscious of the 
presence of beings not visible to others. While we were in 
our Meriden house he saw, on three separate occasions, a 
woman in a gray Shaker bonnet and gray gown pass through 
our upper hall. The first time he saw her he was confident 
some one in the house was playing a trick; but when con- 
vinced that all the inmates of the house could account for 
their doings at that moment, he knew he had had one of his 
"visions." 

Nothing of unusual moment happened after these three 
visitations and he was never able to trace any occurrences in 
the history of the house to explain the matter. 

After the death of our baby he saw the vision of the child 



STEPS UP SPIRITUAL STAIRWAYS 107 

on several occasions, at two of our New. York homes and 
once in a hotel. 

Besides his business qualities, my husband was a popular 
club man; he played an excellent game of whist, bridge and 
auction, and was popular with his companions through his 
wit and his courtesy at the card table. 

In my early married life, he was much in demand for the 
game of poker; and I remember the first time he went to the 
club after we were in our Meriden house. He told me he 
was invited to a special game of poker at his club there, and it 
would be his first meeting with old friends since his mar- 
riage. (I know I felt a great glow of pride as he went down 
the walk, thinking how in all the congratulations his friends 
would naturally offer him on his marriage I had been 
the one woman in the whole world selected to wear his crown 
of "wife.") 

That afternoon he had read to me in a New York paper 
an account of a book, written by Eliott Coues, on theosophy, 
containing many remarkable statements regarding the worlds 
beyond the earth. 

It was the first time I had ever heard the word "Theosophy." 
He told me he was going to send for the book, and he said : 
"Ella, I wish you would write the author and try to meet 
him some time in New York. I think we ought to know more 
of this matter." Of course, whenever he expressed a wish 
of any kind, I never rested until I had done whatever I 
could to carry it out. I devoted the evening to letter writ- 
ing and then retired, to enjoy the sound sleep which has 
always accompanied my nights. I woke to greet him on his 
return and to hear him express his appreciation that I had 
been so sensible about his going to the club, and to listen to 
all the different remarks his friends had made about his mar- 
riage. He said he had had a very enjoyable evening, but he 
said: "All the time I kept wondering if you would remem- 
ber to write to Eliott Coues." Great was his satisfaction 
when he learned the letter was written. 

That was one of the side lights which helped me to see 
what a composite nature was possessed by the man I had 



io8 THE WORLDS AND I 

married. At the card table with his old bachelor chums, all 
unknown to them, he was hoping I had sent out this life line 
to spiritual worlds. And this was characteristic of him 
through all his life. His letters to me, extending over a 
period of thirty-four years, while naturally speaking of do- 
mestic and business matters, are yet full of his longings for 
and convictions of spiritual truths. While he never went 
deeply into the profound philosophy of Theosophy, he yet 
bought me every book on that subject which he felt would 
be a help to me and he was greatly impressed with the idea 
of reincarnation. It explained to both of us the mystery of 
our quick recognition of each other as mates for time and 
eternity; and it explained the complexities of this earth life 
which otherwise would make the Creator seem very unjust. 

It used to be a wonder to him, as well as to me, that such 
ignorance existed in the Christian churches regarding re- 
incarnation. When in the nth chapter of Matthew, Christ 
says, speaking of John the Baptist: "AND IF YE WILL 
RECEIVE IT, THIS IS ELIAS WHO WAS FOR TO 
COME. HE THAT HAS EARS TO HEAR, LET HIM 
HEAR." 

Again in Chapter XVII: "BUT I SAY UNTO YOU 
THAT ELIAS HAS COME ALREADY AND THEY 
KNEW HIM NOT; AND THEY HAVE DONE UNTO 
HIM WHATSOEVER THEY LISTED. LIKEWISE 
SHALL THE SON OF MAN SUFFER OF THEM. AND 
THE DISCIPLES UNDERSTOOD THAT HE SPOKE 
UNTO THEM OF JOHN THE BAPTIST." That John 
the Baptist himself did not know he was Elias, reincarnated, 
is not strange. Few of us know who we were in former 
lives ; but the Masters know ; and Christ, the latest and greatest 
of all Masters, knew of what He spoke. Nevertheless His 
bigoted followers dare to hold up their hands and cry "Pagan- 
ism" when reincarnation is mentioned. 

Our studies in theosophy taught my husband and myself 
how dangerous were the investigations into spiritual phenom- 
ena unless one went about it with the light of knowledge in 
the brain and reverence in the heart. It taught us we were 



STEPS UP SPIRITUAL STAIRWAYS 109 

not to seek information of coming events through the spirits 
of the dead, nor ask for advice on merely earthly matters; 
and that such advice, when obtained, was either given through 
mind reading or by earth-bound spirits whose progress we 
impede by continually calling them back to decide matters 
we should decide ourselves. Theosophy taught us that we 
should not lean on any power save the God-power in our own 
souls; and that we are not saved by any power save the 
power of the Divine Self we develop, as our brother Christ 
developed it through all His incarnations until He became 
truly "One-with-God." Theosophy also taught us that we 
must live the sermon on the mount, not merely 
believe in it, if we expect to find any satisfaction in the 
realms after death. And it taught us that all the realms, 
planes and spheres beyond earth are thought-builded ; and 
that just according to our thoughts, actions and words will 
our "mansions not made by hands" be heavens or hells. 

The continual effort made by my husband to put these 
beliefs into practice in his daily life were known to me, alone, 
perhaps. The effort made his business life ofttimes difficult; 
and had he put these ideals aside, keeping his religion for 
Sundays only, he would, no doubt, have attained great wealth, 
with his combined business acumen and his industry. Even 
in his love of cards and in his monotonous life of travel for 
the first seven years after our marriage, where card games 
were his only recreation, he introduced his idea of altruism. 
This, too, was a matter known only to me. He played games 
of chance only with men he knew; whatever money he made 
was kept in a separate purse, and when he came home he 
asked me to help him distribute it anonymously among deserv- 
ing people. I remember one year when we both found great 
delight in sending a poor aging artist, in the Middle West, 
mysterious packages of money by express. We had met this 
artist while traveling and had bought a few of his pictures 
which we had given to friends. But his hand was losing its 
cunning, and he was too far along in years to take up any 
other occupation, so we felt a great happiness in bestowing 
upon him these blind favors. The skk t the lame, the blind, 



no THE WORLDS AND I 

were aided out of this card fund: never any one we knew 
well : never any of our own dependants : always some one out- 
side, whose needs we knew, but were not supposed to know. 

My husband was reared by strictly old-fashioned orthodox 
relatives. His father believed card playing was wicked, and 
so did many of his boyhood companions. Some of these I 
afterward met, and knew they considered Robert had strayed 
from the fold of salvation by his worldly habits, such as 
playing cards for money. Yet I never knew one of these 
friends or relatives of his who lived so near the Christ 
standard in all his dealings with his fellow men, or who had 
so devout a heart toward God, year in and out, as Robert 
Wilcox. Sympathy, generosity, helpfulness, appreciation, all 
that was worth while ; slow to anger and quick to forgive ; with 
keen powers of discrimination, yet never carpingly critical, 
he surely lived his life along the ideals of brotherhood: 
never a Church member or a Church goer, yet liberal in his 
aid to churches and respectful toward all creeds. 

The year following the Chicago Exposition and Congress 
of Religions, the East Indian Monk, Swami Vivekananda, 
came to New York and gave a course of lectures. My hus- 
band was then passing through a business crisis which re- 
quired all of his courage and self-control. We first heard of 
these lectures in a somewhat curious way. One evening, just 
after dinner, the postman brought a letter; it was from a 
stranger, addressed to me, and had been three times for- 
warded. It told of a lecture to be given by Vivekananda, 
giving the time and the place, and closed, saying: "I feel 
sure, from what I read of your writings, that you will be 
interested." The hall where the lecture was to be given was 
just two blocks from our apartment, and the date was just 
one hour from the time I received the letter. We had no 
other engagement for that evening, and my husband proposed 
going. 

We reached the hall just as Vivekananda was going on 
the stage in his robe and turban. We sat in the very last 
seat of the hall, clasping each other's hands as the impressive 
orator gave a never-to-be-forgotten talk on things spiritual. 



STEPS UP SPIRITUAL STAIRWAYS ill 

When we went out my husband said : "I feel that man knows 
more of God than we do. We must both hear him again." 

My husband attended with me not only a number of even- 
ing lectures, but on several occasions came from his busi- 
ness office during the day to listen to the Swami. I remember 
his saying, as we went out on the street one day: "This 
man makes me rise above every business worry; he makes 
me feel how trivial is the whole material view of life and 
how limitless is the life beyond. I can go back to my troubles 
at the office now with new strength." Yet no one among his 
business associates knew where he had been. 

Although I had naturally possessed the concentration which 
enabled me to sit in a crowded room where people were 
talking, singing or dancing, and to lose myself in reading or 
writing, I had yet to learn that concentration was a science. 

It was Vivekananda, the East Indian teacher, who gave me 
my first lessons in concentration. He told us all, that this 
great law, once understood and acquired, could not only lead 
us to the summit of self-control, but it would give us the 
power of achievement and a knowledge of realms interpene- 
trating our visible and coarser world. After each lesson (and 
indeed a portion of each day since that time) I made a prac- 
tice of sitting quite alone for a quarter or a half hour, seeking 
to bring my too active mind under the check rein of my will. 
I endeavored to drive out every thought save that of God — 
the one supreme, omnipotent creator of all the worlds which 
exist or ever have existed; He of whom Christ said: "Why 
call ye me good ; there is none good but the Father." I sought 
to fill myself with the sense of His power and to bathe myself 
in love for Him. 

Always, from these moments of concentration, I arose 
with new strength and poise to meet life. 

One night, after coming from a lecture, my husband left 
me at the door of our apartment, and said he was going up 
to the Lotos Club for an hour to smoke his cigar and indulge 
in a game of cards. I prepared for retiring, and then sat 
down to my moments of concentration. Suddenly I felt that 
I must go to my desk. I had no idea what I was to do; 



112 THE WORLDS AND I 

I had finished my day's work before I went to the lecture; 
and I had no least thought of writing anything more that day. 
Yet so strong was the urge that I arose, went to my desk, and 
took up my pen and began to write. I was perfectly conscious, 
yet my mortal brain certainly had nothing to do with what 
my pen wrote down. It was as if some one thought for me. 
I watched my hand form the words with interest, as I would 
have watched a friend write. This is the poem which came 
under those peculiar conditions : 

ILLUSION 

God and I in space alone 

And nobody else in view. 
"And where are the people, O Lord," I said, 
"The earth below, and the sky o'er head 

And the dead whom once I knew ?" 

"That was a dream/' God smiled and said, 

"A dream that seemed to be true. 
There were no people, living or dead, 
There was no earth, and no sky o'er head 

There was only myself — in you." 

"Why do I feel no fear," I asked, 

"Meeting you here this way, 
For I have sinned I know full well, 
And is there heaven, and is there hell, 

And is this the judgment day?" 

"Nay, those were but dreams," the Great God said, 

"D reams, that have ceased to be. 
There are no such things as fear or sin, 
There is no you — you never have been — 

There is nothing at all but ME." 

It is the only experience of the kind which ever befell me. 
And oddly enough, it is the only one of my thousands of 
verses which I was ever able completely to memorize and 
never forget. Whoever wrote it through me helps me to 
recall it. 

The verses went begging; no magazine would use them, 
fearing they were unorthodox. The Century editor (Mr. 



STEPS UP SPIRITUAL STAIRWAYS 113 

Gilder) liked them very much, he said, but felt they might 
not be understood by his readers. Finally the Chap Book 
of Chicago used them, after which they were copied all over 
the earth, usually without my name. The London Athenceum 
published them some three years afterwards, and asked its 
readers to supply the author's name, if possible. I supplied 
it with the name and date of the magazine first using it. 

On several different occasions in New York, or while 
traveling at different periods of our lives, my husband and I 
went to spiritual seances and investigated the phenomena. 
We encountered a few cases of pure fraud, not many; more 
cases of the presence of earth-bound spirits and again of 
elementals, mindless creatures that often frequent seance 
rooms. In no one of these circles did we find any knowledge 
that benefited us. Once, in a private home in California, 
through a psychic who only came to her friends, we were 
conscious of being in touch with higher forces; conscious, 
indeed, that our little son had grown in the spirit world, and 
was able to send us a message. The proofs, under perfect 
test conditions, were convincing to us. 

That was fully fifteen years before my husband passed into 
higher worlds himself, and we never, during that time, made 
any further investigations. We simply rested satisfied that 
such truths existed. But always, in talking of these mat- 
ters, as we so frequently did, my husband would say: "If 
I go first, I will come to you and make myself known to you 
in such ways as I can, if God will permit it. If you go 
first, you must come to me." 

In many of his letters I find these promises and only two 
weeks before his going out of the body, when he w».s in 
perfect health, he spoke very earnestly on the subject to me 
again, saying: "However hard it might be for you to stay 
here in our dear seashore home, were I to go on ahead of 
you, it is yet here that I feel I could reach you in spirit and 
make myself manifest. Both our summer and our winter 
homes here are so charged with our love-life that I am sure 
I could make myself known to you." How this promise of 
his has been kept will be told in later pages. 



CHAPTER VIII 
Life in Meriden 

THE first summer of my married life was spent at Thimble 
Islands, in that most inappropriately named resort, 
Stony Creek. (The utter lack of imagination which character- 
izes a large majority of Americans is displayed in the names 
given their towns. How any seashore resort with the wonder 
of waves and tides in the perspective, and islands and trees 
and rocks to lend variety, could be dubbed "Stony Creek" 
will ever remain a mystery to me.) 

My husband had bought a little cottage there before he 
met me, planning to give some of the relatives who were 
blessed by his bounty a summer at the shore. (It was a 
curious coincidence which he and I had discovered early in 
our acquaintance, that both of us were doing what we could 
to help ten relatives, with our purses and our thoughts.) 

It was my first acquaintance with the sea; and although it 
was the Sound, for me it had all the beauty and majesty and 
novelty which had been ascribed to the ocean by my imagina- 
tion. Coming as I did from the inlands of the Middle West, 
dwelling right on the banks of the Sound with the Prince 
of my early dreams, materialized into the most adorable of 
lover comrades, made life almost too full of happiness. 

It was my husband who first found the location of our 
cottage disappointing. He called to my attention the fact that 
it was only pleasing to look out on the water at high tide. 
Until he mentioned it, the mud flats at low tide had not regis- 
tered in my mind. But after a time I realized with him that 
we would not be satisfied to make that place our permanent 
summer home. So the little house was sold, for a trifle more 
than it cost, and at the end of the season we went into a 
house which had been rented for a term of two or three years, 

114 



LIFE IN MERIDEN 115 

at Meriden, Connecticut, as my husband's business affairs 
centered about the manufacturing town for a period of time. 

It was a pretty home, and when we were together life was 
full of everything sweet and beautiful. But my husband was 
obliged to be absent on business of the company in which 
he was a stockholder, fully half the time. On several of 
these trips I accompanied him ; but that was not always prac- 
ticable, and when he left me in Meriden I was acutely 
lonely for lack of congenial companionship. Fortunately I 
had my work; for while marriage relieved me of the urgent 
necessity of writing, there was ever the urge from within; 
and there was a brood of nieces and nephews in the West, 
needing assistance in gaining an education; a work I had 
already begun before marriage and which I was glad to 
continue. 

Then I took up the study of French, and I resumed my 
old long-abandoned exercise of riding. My husband arranged 
with a stableman in Meriden to provide me with good saddle 
horses, and I kept up this enjoyment until that wonderful 
day came when expectant motherhood glorified life with new 
splendor. 

While I made many sweet and lasting friendships in Meri- 
den, I never grew to feel the town was my real home. It 
was so unlike the West, so much more self -centered and 
bound up in material ideas, it seemed to me, than was Madi- 
son or Milwaukee, or Chicago, as I knew them at that period. 
I could not, somehow, enter into any at-one-ment with the 
purely New England element about me. My family had all 
been born in New England, yet the Wisconsin environment 
in which I had been reared was wholly different from that 
of Meriden. There I had been known from childhood, and 
my literary talents had been admired, and I was a sort of 
daughter of the State, wherever I went. In Meriden the 
knowledge of my literary tendencies made people in general 
stand a bit aloof, as if they thought I was not quite like 
other folks. They were not readers of poetry to any extent, 
and knew little about my work. I think the word "poetess" 
to the average American, until recent years, suggested a sen- 



n6 THE WORLDS AND I 

timental person with ringlets and an absence of practical good 
sense. I greatly desired the respect and friendship of Robert's 
friends, and both were given gradually. In the meantime I 
experienced much heart-loneliness when my beloved was away 
from home. Looking back, I realize that I was supersensi- 
tive, and that the Meriden people cared very much more for 
me than I understood at that time. But the New England 
temperament is so repressed that it does not quickly show its 
affections. I missed the spontaneous spirit I had been accus- 
tomed to meet in the West. 

The social life in Meriden, too, seemed very formal to me. 
I liked best my informal calls on a few near neighbors in 
the evening, and they, too, seemed to enjoy having me run 
in bare-headed in my little Josephine house gowns, which 
I always wore in those days. 

There was a beautiful girl bride, sixteen years old, who 
had run away from home to marry a traveling boy enter- 
tainer, and who was living at home while the young husband 
went on his tour. This girl Sallie was so radiant it was a 
joy just to look at her. When she came into my little study 
in the Colony Street house and talked about her lover and let 
me talk about mine, the while our men were away, life lost 
much of its loneliness. Dear, blooming Sallie! her life since 
then has been full of tragedy. Two divorces, a suicide; the 
suffering of neglect and infidelity; separation from children; 
humiliation and despair; a little season of opulence and hap- 
piness, then again tragedy. But all of these things have not 
destroyed her radiant spirit, or blighted her brilliant beauty. 
Sallie is a living example of what the modern woman can 
bear and triumphantly overcome. When I stir the pot-pourri 
of memory, the perfume of rose leaves in a closed jar rises 
at the thought of Sallie as she was then. 

The first understanding interest which Meriden felt in me, 
as a poet, came through the St. Elmo Commandery, K. T., 
the Masonic organization of which my husband was a mem- 
ber. Meriden's very important man, Mr. H. Wales Lines, 
asked me to write a poem for an occasion in the near future 
when the Commandery was to be honored by the presence of 



LIFE IN MERIDEN 117 

some distinguished guests. Robert brought the request to me 
and seemed desirous for me to write the poem. He provided 
me with such books and literature as would give me the 
history of the Masonic Order, an order of which I knew 
little, save that it held secrets which no woman could share. 

I felt much concern about my ability to do honor to the 
occasion (or rather, to do honor to my husband, which was 
my leading thought, I am sure). 

I toiled in my little study for two or three days without 
being able to write one satisfying line, and each night, when 
my husband came in, I was obliged to shadow the hope in his 
eyes by a disappointing report. Then he told me that one 
of his very best business friends from New York, newly 
married, was coming with his bride to spend the week-end 
with us. He hoped I might finish my poem and be ready to 
enjoy their visit, but meantime assured me I need not feel 
anxious about their entertainment, as he would see to that, 
if I needed the time for my work. However, not a line of 
the poem came until after the friends had arrived. We had 
dined and were in the drawing room; Robert told them of 
my work and asked them to excuse me if I went up to my 
study, but in a few minutes I came down with my writing 
materials and asked them to let me sit in their midst and 
write. I felt that such a congenial atmosphere would bring 
an inspiration. And sure enough it did. So, there in that 
social circle I began and completed the poem which delighted 
not only my husband but the whole Commandery, and not 
only the Commandery, for the poem has been used periodically 
by Masonic orders all over the world at many distinguished 
gatherings. Just at the beginning of the war my publishers 
in London wrote me enthusiastically regarding this poem. 
But, best of all, it brought me, at the time it was written, in 
closer touch with my husband's friends and made Meriden 
seem a little more like home to me. 

The first suggestion for a poem made to me by the man 
whose name I was honored by wearing later occurred in 
Chicago a few months previous to our marriage. We were 



n8 THE WORLDS AND I 

looking into the window of an art shop where were displayed 
three charming engravings of the stork. 

In the first the stork was standing with his mate beside 
a pool where babies grew like water lilies among ferns and 
mosses. In the second the chosen infant was snugged on the 
back of his consort, while Mr. Stork was ringing a door bell 
with his foot. The third picture represented the reception of 
the child at the open door by a smiling woman. The pictures 
were signed "Rosenthal, 1862." 

Curiously enough, I had never heard the legend of the 
stork until the explanation of the pictures was given me by my 
lover, who added, "I think you could make a very pretty 
poem on this topic. With your permission, I will send these 
pictures out to your home for you." So the pictures were 
sent, neatly framed, to the Wisconsin farm, where I returned 
that day: and very shortly afterward the poem was written 
and became, on its publication, immensely popular with 
mothers, with musicians and with elocutionists. Through all 
the long years since its appearance it has been sung and re- 
cited in many homes and salons. 

BABYLAND 

Have you heard of the Valley of Babyland 
The realm where the dear little darlings stay, 
Till the kind storks go as all men know 
And oh, so tenderly bring them away ? 
The paths are winding and past all finding 
By all save the storks who understand 
The gates and the highways and the intricate byways 
That lead to Babyland. 

All over the Valley of Babyland 
Sweet flowers bloom in the soft green moss 
And under the ferns fair, and under the plants there 
Lie little heads like spools of floss. 
With a soothing number the river of Slumber 
Flows over a bedway of silver sand. 
And Angels are keeping watch o'er the sleeping 
Babes of Babyland. 



LIFE IN MERIDEN 119 

The path to the Valley of Babyland 
Only the kingly kind storks know. 
If they fly over mountains or wade through fountains 
No man sees them come or go. 
But an angel maybe, who guards some baby, 
Or a fairy perhaps with her magic wand, 
Brings them straightway to the wonderful gateway 
That leads to Babyland. 

And there in the Valley of Babyland 
Under the mosses and leaves and ferns 
Like an unfledged starling they find the darling 
For whom the heart of a mother yearns. 
And they lift him lightly and snug him tightly 
In feathers soft as a lady's hand : 
And off with a rockaway step they walk away 
Out of Babyland. 

As they go from the Valley of Babyland 
Forth into the world of great unrest, 
Sometimes in weeping he wakes from sleeping 
Before he reaches the mother's breast. 
Ah how she blesses him, how she caresses him 
Bonniest bird in the bright home band, 
That o'er land and water the kind stork brought her, 
From far off Babyland. 

My one joy and delight, pure and unalloyed during those 
two and a half years in Meriden, outside of my hours with 
my husband, was in my visits to Aunt Hattie and Uncle 
Lester, and their five daughters (Robert's cousins, with whom 
he had been reared like a brother) in New Britain, Connecti- 
cut. Aunt Hattie's sister was Robert's mother. It proved to 
,me of what rare, broad, sweet and beautifully Christian line- 
age he sprang (on his mother's side there was kinship to 
Ralph Waldo Emerson) when this aunt and her five daugh- 
ters, who had been accustomed to receive both his love and 
his means without any wife to come between them with 
claims for either, accepted me with open hearts and arms, 
and from the hour of our first meeting to this day never 
has one moment of discord or misunderstanding come to 
shadow life. Reared in a strictly orthodox atmosphere, Aunt 



120 THE WORLDS AND I 

Hattie Booth and all her daughters were yet as broad as the 
universe in their outlook on religion and in their under- 
standing of God's requirements of His children. All my 
ideas which many at that time called Unitarian, and which 
a year later I knew were theosophical, Aunt Hattie would 
discuss with me, evincing the deepest interest: and profound 
was her insight into things psychical. That is no wonder; 
for if ever a human being was in close touch with the world 
of Angels it was she. To this day, fully twenty years since 
she passed out of earth sight, I can not think of this rare and 
lovely woman without a rush of tender love sweeping through 
me, and of eager hope at the thought of again meeting her 
in realms not so far distant from me, I trust. 

The commonplace, ordinary type of woman could easily 
have felt jealousy because of the new and expensive interest 
of the relative who had been her benefactor; and one encoun- 
ters in such situations sometimes a nature so narrow and 
petty that gratitude for past favors is sunk in resentment 
that any one else should now share the thoughts of the 
benevolent bestower of material benefits. Such a nature can 
make purgatory out of heaven and discord out of harmony 
for all within her environment. Therefore it was then, and 
ever will be, a source of perpetually flowing springs of love 
and gratitude mixed with reverence — the gracious attitude of 
my husband's Aunt Hattie and of her five daughters, all 
living to-day, and still bestowing upon me their never-changing 
affection. I have always felt this close bond which united 
my husband's blood kin to me a far greater satisfaction than 
the honors I have received from any social or literary source 
during my whole career. Aunt Hattie was a Bulkeley — a 
name known and honored in New England — and my husband 
felt very proud of his blood. Many eminent clergymen and 
other men of note sprang from the Bulkeleys and they were, 
too, famed for their keen sense of humor and quick wit. 

In my heart's jewel collection of rare souls Aunt Hattie 
always seemed to me like a perfect amethyst; she was so 
exquisite, so translucent, so gleaming. She would have 



LIFE IN MERIDEN! 121 

adorned courts or shone in the salon of a He Stael, had her 
destiny called her there. 

In my Wisconsin home we had never made much of a 
festival of Thanksgiving Day, save to prepare a little extra 
food and perhaps attend some social gathering in the even- 
ing. But we had few relatives, and the fifty miles which 
lay between my grandparents' home and my own were seldom 
bridged by more than one visitor at a time. Therefore it 
was a new and delightful experience when, the first Thanks- 
giving Day after my marriage, I sat at Aunt Hattie's table 
with twenty-one new made relatives. I was the twenty-second. 
\unt Hattie employed no domestics, four of her five daugh- 
ters being of an age to be helpful, and the sweetest possible 
atmosphere of loving service characterized the home. I pre- 
sume they may, being human, at times have had their spats 
and misunderstandings, but in all the years during which I 
was a frequent guest at the home for long periods of time, I 
never heard any discordant words under that hospitable roof : 
and there was much fun, much mirth, much happiness, despite 
the fact that two of the daughters suffered from serious 
physical disorders resulting from the effects of scarlet fever 
in their childhood, and despite the fact that many anxieties 
and worries came to the family, as is the fate of most mortals. 
It was my ideal of a loving home — the atmosphere I had 
always longed for. 

Uncle Lester was given to moods of much depression and 
fear about the future, but always that rare soul of Aunt 
Hattie's soared above the clouds and brought sunshine; and 
always she turned Uncle Lester's sighs to smiles and his fears 
to hope. I remember how like a big tree branch full of 
birds their table seemed to me on that Thanksgiving Day. 
At one moment there would be twenty-two people sitting at 
it; the next moment I would see but a dozen; the others had 
flown to bring back more food to the table, just as birds fly 
back and forth to feed their young, and I, the new-comer, 
was so feted and loved and appreciated that my heart was 
bursting with love and gratitude for the blessings that God 
had bestowed upon me. 



122 THE WORLDS AND I 

Dear Aunt Hattie! It is said that the foundation of hap- 
piness in Heaven is formed, not by our creeds and psalm 
singing and church-going, but by remembrance of the good 
and kind words and deeds we bestow upon God's children, 
our fellow beings on earth. It is said, too, that Hell is 
formed by remembrance of our unkindness to our earth 
companions. Surely Aunt Hattie rose quickly to a beautiful 
realm where she trod golden floors made of her own golden 
deeds on earth. Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. God 
and all His great angels bless her forever and ever ! 

It was a shining hour of my life when I imparted to Aunt 
Hattie the wonderful news of my expectant motherhood. 
Again the white soul and big heart and broad-loving spirit 
were revealed in her spontaneous delight; and all through 
those radiant months, fully half of them spent without my 
husband's presence, Aunt Hattie and her daughters and the 
good Uncle Lester were my strength and comfort and defense 
against the many anxieties and fears which would, at times, 
intrude on my great happiness. It can easily be imagined how 
painful and bitter would have been the situation of a new- 
comer and expectant mother in a strange land if the hus- 
band's relatives had been opposed to the advent of a child, 
as sometimes occurs in families. 

Never was a child more longed for, or more anticipated, 
than that babe of mine; and never did waiting mother feel 
herself to be more of a chosen and anointed being than I 
during those months. Naturally, I felt a deep gratitude to- 
wards others who also welcomed the coming child. My first 
sea voyage was taken during that period of my life. Being 
in excellent health, the physician thought it no risk, and so 
the wonderful trip to Havana and back was enjoyed with- 
out any disastrous results and with lasting memories of great 
pleasure. 

Some verses written on that voyage, suggested by a re- 
mark made by my husband, became extremely popular and 
have been set to music by more than one composer since. 
Seeing a scarf of mine fluttering in the sea wind at the open 
port hole of our cabin, he said: "See how that old flirt of 



LIFE IN MERIDEN 123 

a sea wind is trying to coax that scarf to come out and 
see the world with him; if she went, he would kiss her a 
few times and then fling her into the waves to drown." So 
before the day ended I wrote "The Seabreeze and the Scarf." 

Much as my husband desired a son, all the "people-who-are- 
supposed-to-know" predicted a daughter. So we relinquished 
the idea of Robert, Jr., and prepared to welcome Winifred 
Wilcox. All through the Cuban trip we talked of Winifred. 
She became a real personality to us; and we thought of her 
as if she had lived many years under our roof. 

My happiness was so great that I shared my expectations 
with all my friends from the very beginning of my hope, 
and Anna Robertson Noxon, a gifted woman from the South, 
who was very well known at that time as a writer of bright 
verse, sent a poem to "Winifred," beginning: 

Winifred, when bees are humming 
We shall listen for your coming. 

I have the lines among my treasures laid away. 

Once, while my husband was in the West, I wrote him what 
a happy visit I was having with friends of his in New York, 
and before me lies a letter he wrote me in reply. He says 
therein : 

"I am glad too you have Winifred with you, in all your hap- 
piness in New York. Though she is very young to go into 
society, I feel she is very safe snugged up so closely to your 
warm heart; and the little confidences that she receives from 
its whispered pulsings must be very delightful to her. I should 
think you would be talking to her all the time. A kiss to her." 

But suddenly, one May day, when the expectant father 
was in Tennessee on business, not Winifred, but Robert M. 
Wilcox, Jr., came to earth life; and not liking the world into 
which he had been so unceremoniously ushered, he remained 
only twelve hours. 

Informed by wire of the arrival of his son, my husband 
wrote me a letter which was replete with beauty and wit. 



1-24 THE WORLDS AND I 

"Who," he said, "is this Robert M. Wilcox weighing ten 
pounds ? What was his hurry ? Where is Winifred ? It is the 
first instance on record when a Wilcox stepped in so im- 
politely before a lady. Yet he and his mother have made me 
the proudest man that walks the earth to-night.'' 

A few hours later a second telegram called my husband 
home to find only the beautiful body of his son left for him 
to see. Through a man's tears, mourning that longed-for 
son, and trembling for the life of his wife which hung in 
the balance, he was the saddest man on earth. So brief was 
the life of this son, and so unprepared were we to think of 
him as a son, that, as time passed, he became like the memory 
of a dream to us; while the thought of Winifred has always 
lingered, as of one we had known and loved and dwelt with. 

During the twenty-nine years my husband remained with 
me after the loss of our child we used Winifred as a sort 
of mentor when either wished gently to rebuke the other. My 
husband, who always desired me to be philosophical when 
any trouble or annoyance came (even if he failed to be so), 
found me rather rebellious and indignant one day over an 
unjust and ungrateful action of an inferior, who had received 
benefits from our hands. "You must control yourself, my 
dear," he said ; "how do you think you would appear to Wini- 
fred in such a mood? Would you be an example for her?" 
Once when he was smoking more cigars than I felt were good 
for him, and a few reminders of the fact from me, as well 
as from his physician, did not cause him to desist, I asked 
him what he thought Winifred would say if she found her 
father injuring his health by such a habit. So ever this 
daughter of our imagination walked with us; and we often 
saw young girls whom we described as of "Winifred" type. 



CHAPTER IX 
New York 

AFTER the death of our baby we left our Meriden house, 
and went to Shelter Island for the summer, where I slowly 
pulled back to health of mind and body, and that autumn 
we settled in New York, which became my husband's head- 
quarters for an independent branch of the sterling silver 
business in which he was engaged. The little apartment we 
took was my first real home, entirely arranged and planned 
by myself during my husband's absence, and it was my first 
experience in being my own housekeeper and doing my own 
marketing, while a cunning little sixteen-year-old maid, 
Louisa, came in the morning to assist me and went home 
at night, as our apartment was not large enough to house her. 

I had even selected the apartment alone; and when my 
liege lord returned he was amused and a bit startled to find 
how tiny it was. When I explained my dominating desire 
to be economical, he was greatly touched. I had not yet 
become accustomed to the thought of spending any one's 
money but my own, earned by my pen; and there was a 
certain embarrassment in the idea of using even my hus- 
band's purse. 

We remained in the little apartment only during the winter ; 
but they were very happy months, and about that small home 
will ever linger a halo of memory. Our belongings were 
artistic, and, small as the domicile was, my friends always 
exclaimed at the charm of the spot when they entered it. 

During the first two years of my marriage, while living in 
Meriden, I had made the acquaintance of a number of literary 
people in New York. My very first introduction to any social 
life in the metropolis had been at a reception given by Jenny 
June Croly, who was at the height of her popularity. She 

125 



126 THE WORLDS AND I 

was President of Sorosis, and her writings, speeches, and 
active works for the advancement of women made her a 
conspicuous figure in the intellectual world of that time, and 
surrounded her with brilliant people. I felt highly flattered 
when she asked me to be her guest of honor at one of her 
Sunday evenings. At her home I met many celebrities, and 
was invited to various other entertainments from time to 
time, so when I became a resident of the metropolis I was 
not a stranger. 

I began to ask a few of the people I had met to come to 
my apartment on an occasional Sunday afternoon, and in my 
little band-box of a drawing room were frequently gathered 
a bevy of poets, artists, actors, musicians, and always a circle 
of charming girls. It has been my good fortune all my life 
to have as close friends young women of unusual beauty and 
brain and moral worth. 

Young people of both sexes made much of me those first 
years in New York; for "Poems of Passion" was still in 
the public eye, and was much read and talked about, and in 
the East seldom criticized. All the lovers and brides and 
bridegrooms and dreamers of dreams wanted to meet the 
writer of the ardent love verses; and many of the literary 
drawing rooms made a feature of having some actor or elo- 
cutionist recite selections from my book. I followed this 
volume the first year I lived in New York with "Poems of 
Pleasure," and many of the verses from this volume became 
extremely popular for recitation, particularly "The Birth of 
the Opal." This poem came into form through the following 
chain of circumstances. 

The year preceding my marriage I had been made the 
poet of the day at a large banquet, "A Woman's Congress," 
given for Julia Ward Howe and other Eastern women of 
note, at the Palmer House, Chicago. There I met Mrs. 
Sophia Hoffman of New York, a beautiful and motherly 
woman, of much intellectual charm, who at once became 
my devoted friend. I remember feeling the wind go out 
of my sails that afternoon by something she told me Julia 
Ward Howe had said: that Miss Wheeler evinced con- 



NEW YORK 127 

siderable ability and she thought it might be developed 
into real talent with study and hard work. As I had worked 
with unflagging zeal and persistence ever since I could hold 
a pen, and had already received many words of commenda- 
tion from high sources, I felt very much set back by Mrs. 
Howe's words ; but these set-backs have ever come to me peri- 
odically in order, no doubt, to save me from that most of- 
fensive and blighting sin — conceit and self-satisfaction. 

After I came East, I met Mrs. Hoffman at many functions, 
and one day (to be exact, it was December 13th, 1886), while 
I was on a shopping trip in New York, Mrs. Hoffman asked 
me to lunch with her, and then took me to the jewelry 
establishment of Marcus and Sons, at that time on Union 
Square. She introduced me to Mr. Marcus, Senior, and asked 
him to show me the wonderful opal he had in a large piece 
of rock from somewhere in Honduras. I had never before 
seen an opal, and was much impressed by it. Mr. Marcus said 
to me: "I wish you would write a poem about it; it has 
always seemed to me that the opal was the child of the sun- 
beam and the moonbeam. I have told several of our New 
York poets of my idea; but not one of them has grasped it 
in all its beauty. I think you could." "Yes," I replied, "I 
am sure I can." "If you do," Mr. Marcus said, "let me see 
the poem as soon as it is done. I am getting out a little 
book on gems which it would suit." I went back to Meriden 
and in my little study, on December 14th, I wrote, in per- 
haps a half hour's time: 



THE BIRTH OF THE OPAL 

The Sunbeam loved the Moonbeam, 
And followed her low and high, 

But the Moonbeam fled and hid her head, 
She was so shy — so shy. 

The Sunbeam wooed with passion; 

Ah, he was a lover bold ! 
And his heart was afire with mad desire, 

For the Moonbeam pale and cold. 



128 THE WORLDS AND I 

She fled like a dream before him, 
Her hair was a shining sheen, 

And oh, that Fate would annihilate 
The space that lay between! 

Just as the day lay panting 

In the arms of the twilight dim, 

The Sunbeam caught the one he sought 
And drew her close to him. 

But out of his warm arms, startled 
And stirred by Love's first shock, 

She sprang afraid, like a trembling maid, 
And hid in the niche of a rock. 

And the Sunbeam followed and found her 
And led her to Love's own feast ; 

And they were wed on that rocky bed, 
And the dying day was their priest. 

And lo! the beautiful Opal — 
That rare and wondrous gem — 

Where the moon and sun blend into one, 
Is the child that was born to them. 



I sent the verses to Mr. Marcus, saying I wished to publish 
them in The Century Magazine first, after which he could use 
them in his booklet on gems. 

Mr. Marcus returned a check of twenty-five dollars and 
said he desired to be the first publisher of the poem. For- 
tunately, I obtained his permission to allow the verses to be 
recited in two or three drawing rooms during the time he 
was preparing his booklet, for when the booklet appeared my 
verses were without my name. Mr. Marcus explained that 
it was owing to an error in the printing room. But, naturally, 
it was a bitter disappointment to me. It caused me much 
annoyance, as when a few months later I included them in 
my new volume, "Poems of Pleasure," several letters came 
to me from people who said they had seen these lines before, 
and asking for my proof of their authorship. This proof was 
forthcoming in the word of the many people who had heard 



NEW YORK 129 

the name given at receptions and seen it on programmes of 
recitals. 

Aubrey Boucicault was then a beautiful lad, a sort of child 
prodigy in the artistic circles of New York; he was like a 
young Apollo, and at many entertainments that winter the 
piece-de-resistance was "The Birth of the Opal," given by 
Aubrey Boucicault. A young English actor, Courtenay 
Thorpe, made them a specialty also. But despite the almost 
universal popularity of these verses, I found my little poetical 
bark was not yet out of the choppy waves of criticism. 
Although I had been made a welcome guest in many literary 
salons, there was one woman, the wife of a successful author, 
whom I met frequently at receptions and who gave charm- 
ing evenings at her own home and distinctly ignored me. 
She even went so far as to invite a protegee staying in my 
own home, without including me. I was afterward told that 
the good lady objected to my poem, 'The Birth of the Opal." 
She said I had laid bare all the secrets of married life in 
that poem. 

It was some time after this that a Spanish poet was ex- 
pressing his enthusiastic admiration for my verses, and I could 
not refrain from telling him the incident above related; to 
which the witty Spaniard replied: "My God, madam, did 
the lady think she, alone, knew those secrets?" 

The one and only time I was ever induced to recite in 
public was that winter, and that poem. Before I relate the 
incident I must go back to the beginning of my career. It 
has already been told how Frank Leslie's publishing house 
sent me my first check for ten dollars, the price of three 
poems. A benign old gentleman, Benjamin Smith, was the 
Leslie secretary; he had been many years in the employ of 
the house, and he was a gallant devotee at the shrine of Mrs. 
Frank Leslie, who, after the death of her husband, took the 
business into her own hands, and was able to leave at her 
death, a few years ago, a fortune of nearly two million dollars. 

Mr. Smith wrote me, after I had been a contributor to 
the Leslie periodicals for a year or two, that my first poems 
were regarded by him and Mrs. Leslie with considerable sus- 



130 THE WORLDS AND I 

picion, as my penmanship was so crude and childish, and the 
merit of the verses suggested an older hand. He often used 
to write me very chatty letters, and always was there some 
compliment for Mrs. Leslie, or some clipping telling of her 
beauty and brilliancy, which naturally appealed to my imagina- 
tion. Therefore it was with a tense interest that I made my 
first call at the Leslie publishing house, where Mrs. Leslie had 
written me she spent all her daylight hours. 

I confess to a feeling of disappointment at the first sight 
of this lady. The newspaper descriptions of her, and those 
of Benjamin Smith, seemed overdrawn. She looked older 
and less radiant than I had imagined, and her pronounced 
Roman nose, while it indicated her Napoleonic business 
prowess, militated against her beauty. But her skin, of ex- 
quisite texture, was like the finest marble and with that pe- 
culiar luster which seemed to shine from within. Her eyes 
were large and blue, and her mouth almost too small for 
beauty, too thin-lipped. Her form was molded after the 
Spanish lines, a little too slender in the waist and too full in 
the bust for modern ideas of symmetry, perhaps, but at that 
time small waists were regarded as a necessary accompani- 
ment to beauty. Her feet, too, were out of drawing, so 
tiny were they. I once saw her crossing a street attired in a 
heavy fur coat which made her full bust more prominent, 
and gave her large head and large Roman nose a Juno-like 
appearance, while from beneath her skirt peeped out those 
infantile feet. It was an inartistic effect. Mrs. Leslie, how- 
ever, felt very proud of her feet and very sensitive about 
her hands, which were small but unlovely in shape. She made 
a feature of long sleeves and lace falling over her hands in her 
dressing. Mr. Abraham Wakeman, a one-time Postmaster of 
New York, told me that he saw Mrs. Leslie when she was Mrs. 
Squires and in the full bloom of early womanhood, and he said, 
without any exception, she was the most magnificent specimen 
of female beauty he had ever beheld. Her brilliant beauty led 
Frank Leslie to obtain his own divorce and hers, to make her 
his wife. Mr. Squires was her second husband, although she 
spoke of him as her first. There had been a brief early mar- 



NEW YORK 131 

riage (with some elements of tragedy connected with it) which 
she never mentioned, and only a few people knew of it. She 
often referred to herself as "a mere child" when she married 
Mr. Leslie. When I met her, she was probably in her middle 
or late forties, and she seemed a very tired woman. But she 
was alive with sentiment and romance — the dominating quali- 
ties in her nature, second only perhaps to ambition for power 
and prestige. 

The man known as the Marquis de Leuville was in the 
foreground of her life; and she was genuinely and un- 
questionably in love with him. He was a striking-looking 
individual, very tall, with long hair and a peculiar walk due 
to very high heels: he was a fluent talker and a great 
flatterer of women. He was younger than Mrs. Leslie, and it 
was evident to all who saw him that he had her bank-book 
account in mind, in his pursuit of her. Their engagement was 
announced, but the marriage never took place. 

With Mrs. Leslie's unquestionable business acumen, her 
fine intellectual qualities, and her large experience in the 
world, it seemed almost incredible that she should be so misled 
by her belief in her powers as an enchantress. Yet, if we 
study the lives of other women who have been prominent in 
the eyes of the world through their combined beauty and 
intellect, we shall not find Mrs. Leslie a solitary instance of 
such foolishness. The woman who during the time of fem- 
inine prowess rules men by her physical charms and her mag- 
netism and her ability to keep them entertained, is quite prone 
to ignore the fact that she has lost her attractions, long 
after the sad truth is apparent to every one else. Accustomed 
for years to have men pursue her because she is physically at- 
tractive, she cheats herself with the belief that her attrac- 
tions, not her bank account, cause them to continue the chase 
after she is past her prime. When a woman finds her chief 
interest in life is her power over men, it affects her very much 
like a drug habit, and is as difficult to overcome. And it leads 
to as many illusions. 

Mrs. Leslie used to talk of the many men who frequented 
her salon as her helpless slaves. Yet, while given to great 



132 THE WORLDS AND I 

caution in handing out money for charitable purposes usually, 
she almost invariably proved an easy mark for her impecuni- 
ous admirers. 

Mrs. Leslie believed herself to be one of the greatest in- 
spirations to the poetical genius of Joaquin Miller. I think 
possibly she may have been. I was in New Orleans, with 
my husband, at the Exposition, the second winter after my 
marriage. Mrs. Leslie, who was at another hotel, called and 
told me Joaquin Miller had asked her to bring me to break- 
fast with him at the Cable House, where he was spending 
that winter. My husband thought it worth my while to meet 
the poet of high boots and long hair, whose genius was un- 
mistakable. So I went to the breakfast, and Mr. Miller met 
me at the door, and looking down upon me from his great 
height, said, "Why, Elly, I didn't think you were so petite 
and pinky; I imagined you a big-wristed girl out West milk- 
ing cows." I remember the poet as very gallant and com- 
plimentary toward Mrs. Leslie, though I did not see any evi- 
dences of consuming passion in his attitude. 

Mrs. Leslie, from the hour I met her, evinced a deep 
interest in me; and desired my presence at all her functions, 
which, during the first few years of my life in the East, 
were really brilliant affairs. And one met there, in her crowded 
drawing rooms, some very worth-while people. I had come 
from the West, into the presence of people whose names alone 
in my early youth gave me a thrill, and I felt that I was 
dwelling in an enchanted land, i I lacked the discrimination 
which comes from experience with humanity, and I was so 
dazzled with the love light in which I walked that everybody 
and everything was seen through a veil of illusion. While 
my husband had often told me that (at that time) my utter 
lack of any tendency to criticize my fellow beings was pe- 
culiarly pleasing to him, he nevertheless became somewhat 
troubled about my too ready acceptance of everybody I met 
in New York as an angel in disguise. He wanted me to 
learn, not to criticize, but to discriminate. Looking back over 
our wonderful years together, I do not recall one instance 
where my husband failed in judgment of the people he be- 



NEW YORK 133 

lieved worth taking as friends and those he thought it wise 
to keep as acquaintances only. He was most anxious for 
me to meet and enjoy whomsoever was worth knowing. He 
realized that my life belonged — in a measure — to the public, 
and he was ever watchful of himself to see that his claims 
upon me did not restrict the growth of my talents or cir- 
cumscribe my life. But he was solicitous lest the designing 
and the unworthy should crowd out others more deserving. 

There came a time when he was very much troubled about 
Mrs. Leslie's constant claims upon me as an assistant at her 
functions, her desire to have my name appear in print 
beside hers, no matter whether I had been with her or not, 
and her unwillingness that I should have friends made outside 
of her circle. She and the Marquis de Leuville were very 
much before the public eye in the press, both in America and 
England, and there was a great lack of dignity about the whole 
matter which distressed my husband. It led finally to my 
urging Mrs. Leslie, as a friend, to adopt a different course of 
conduct toward the de Leuville man, telling her of the wrong 
impressions she was creating; and this caused Mrs. Leslie to 
feel hurt, and to regard me as having turned against her. She 
thought I had been unjust toward de Leuville also; but I am 
sure she lived to realize her mistake in that matter. There 
were admirable qualities in Mrs. Leslie's nature. She was 
quick to appreciate talent of any kind and to aid it where 
such aid did not call for too much sacrifice on her part. She 
was free from petty jealousies, and ready to see and praise 
beauty in another woman. This is a trait not often found in 
a woman whose stock in trade is her own beauty. And she 
was amiable and to certain kinds of suffering sympathetic. 
Then again, one came up against such adamantine streaks in 
her nature that it was a veritable shock ; I have seen her almost 
angelic in tenderness, and I have seen her as cruel as the 
iceberg. Surely a strange woman. 

While I met Mrs. Leslie frequently afterward at various 
functions I never continued the old intimacy; and only called 
upon her once afterward, a few years before her death. The 
"Marquis," it was learned, at the time of his death, was a son 



134 THE WORLDS AND I 

of a barber; and had set forth determined to make a career for 
himself by hook or crook. His course of procedure was to 
seek out wealthy women of mature years and flatter them into 
compliance with any of his wishes. It was an amazing fact 
that the man had lived in luxury and forced his way into many 
social circles through such means. 

To return to the "Birth of the Opal," and my recitation of 
that poem, takes me back to the first year of my acquaintance 
with Mrs. Leslie. It was the last function I attended before my 
baby came. I know I wore a white satin Empress Josephine 
gown, belted high under my arm pits and very full in drap- 
ery. Mrs. Leslie had planned to have my recitation an ef- 
fective one; and she had sent to the bank and brought forth 
a splendid set of opals, in which she decked me. I had never 
heard then of any evil omen attached to this jewel and I was 
thrilled with their wonderful beauty. I was given a chair on 
a sort of impromptu raised dais of some kind, and in my 
Josephine gown and the splendor of the opals I recited, or 
rather said, my verses in a monotone, with no effort at elocu- 
tion. 

I think there must have been something rather droll 
about my manner of saying the verses, as "An Imitation of 
Ella Wheeler Wilcox'* was afterward given as an encore on 
programs by Settie Bloom, a charming reader of that day, 
who was popular in drawing rooms. I once sat in the audi- 
ence where this lady gave a reading for charity, and heard 
myself imitated, and was convulsed with laughter. It made 
me more determined than ever to let my one appearance in 
the role of a reciter be my last. 

Mrs. Leslie had given me my first shock by her dismay at 
my coming motherhood. From the first hour she knew of it 
she had declared it a terrible misfortune ; and I recoiled from 
her when she said, "I would as soon touch a worm as a new- 
born baby. You will destroy your figure, your complexion, 
and no doubt lose your husband's love by this sacrifice." After 
a few such speeches I requested Mrs. Leslie to desist talking 
on the subject ; and almost her only reference to it afterward 
was on this occasion where three months before my baby 



NEW YORK 135 

came I recited the "Birth of the Opal," and she said to me, 
"If your baby is a girl you must call her Opal." Mrs. Leslie 
was four times married ; and she was about to be married to 
a fifth husband, a Spanish Marquis of an old family, when he 
died suddenly. Yet I am sure in her whole adventurous career 
she never knew such happiness as was mine in that brief period 
of expectant motherhood. 

Those early years in New York's literary circle would have 
held dangers for me had I not been so absorbingly and 
reverently in love with my husband. The literary salons, like 
all New York circles, teemed with men who were ready for 
flirtatious experiences, and the author of "Poems of Passion" 
was, by some of these men, supposed to be a free lance in love 
matters. But it did not require long to convince them of their 
mistake. One bachelor said, in speaking of me, "She really 
bores me; you can not talk ten minutes with her before she 
bumps you up against a two-hundred-pound husband with 
whom she seems to be ridiculously enamored." 

One of my women acquaintances assured me it was very 
bad form to let other men know I was in love with my hus- 
band; that it savored of the country; and that, besides, I was 
cheating my genius. She thought one of my talents needed 
to be fed with romantic experiences in order to keep the foun- 
tain of expression flowing with fresh waters. Mrs. Leslie 
warned me that it was very unwise and very unsafe to permit 
my husband to know I was so deeply in love with him. She 
said the only way to hold a man was to keep him in doubt and 
to show him that other men were interested. But I knew these 
theories were false philosophy; and I knew life had nothing 
to offer me that could in any way compensate for one moment's 
loss of my own self-respect or the respect and confidence of 
the man who made me his wife. To "make good" as a daugh- 
ter and a sister had always seemed to me a greater achieve- 
ment than to attain fame or financial success; and to fill the 
often difficult role of wife, to the very best of my ability, 
(aided by constant prayers for larger wisdom and more un- 
derstanding) became my one controlling aim. Therefore the 
life in New York was only entertaining and amusing, and 



136 THE WORLDS AND I 

again sometimes disillusioning, but never dangerous for me. 

The materialization into personalities of some of the famous 
names I had known proved not always satisfying. Talent 
and genius had ever seemed to me like two white sentinels 
guarding the door of the human mind from the intrusion of 
ignoble jealousy, petty envy, and unworthy selfishness. The 
gifted man and woman I had thought must be the great man 
and woman. It was not invariably so: and many of the 
halos I had bestowed upon imagined personalities had to be 
"cut over" or removed entirely when the actual individual 
was encountered. Yet about all those early years in New 
York there was a brightness and beauty that still shines in 
memory as I look back upon them. It was a constant surprise 
to me, to think I was really living in the midst of the people 
of whom I had dreamed during those lonely years on the 
Western farm; and when I would send a poem to the New 
York magazines or weeklies, and receive an answer back 
swiftly, there was always a sensation of novelty in the ex- 
perience; a happy realization that I was not five miles from 
the post office and fifteen hundred miles from the editors, but 
a living part of the great metropolis myself, and in touch 
with the whole world in consequence. 

I organized a little French study class and social club at 
my home, which resulted in much pleasure and entertainment. 
We talked only French for two hours; a fine was paid for 
breaking into English even by one sentence. Then afterward 
we spoke our native tongue while enjoying a simple repast. 
The now famous and successful author, then just beginning 
to be known, Will N. Harben, was one of the circle and a great 
favorite with every one. He was handsome and witty, and 
full of southern gallantry and pretty flattery toward all women. 
In connection with him I recall such a droll little incident. I 
am wondering if he will remember it if he reads these pages. 
One evening during our French hour the door of my apart- 
ment was opened into the hall, and quite a draught of air was 
coming through. A French teacher, who was always engaged 
for the evening, was giving a recitation. I sat near Mr. Har- 
ben, and he was within reach of the door. Feeling the chill 



NEW YORK 137 

of the air, and not wanting to disturb the reading by rising, 
I whispered to Mr. Harben very softly: "Shut the door; shut 
the door." This he did after a third repetition. Then when 
the time came to speak English Mr. Harben assumed a most 
dolorous air, and said to me, "You can not imagine what a 
moment of ecstasy followed by dull despair you gave me when 
you spoke. I thought you were speaking French; and that 
you said, 'Je t' adore.' But with what a thud I fell after your 
third repetition !" 

One day I took a party of some ten young people, Mr. Har- 
ben among them, to visit a clairvoyant of whom I had heard 
interesting things. She proved to be a tall handsome woman, 
who seemed to feel a great respect for her calling. She 
charged a nominal price, and proceeded to take handker- 
chiefs and other objects from the people in my party; and 
when one young man began to say witty things, she hushed 
him, remarking that she wished every one to be serious and 
respectful while in the room. She told us she had possessed 
this clear seeing power since she was a small child; and that 
she knew it came from a divine source. Then she went on 
to tell all those in our party some very interesting and some 
very remarkable facts concerning themselves, their affairs and 
their friends. We all came away impressed that the clairvoy- 
ant was really possessed of occult powers. 

The name of this lady was Katherine Tingley; and she has 
since become known the world over through her prominence in 
a certain branch of theosophical work at Point Loma, Cali- 
fornia. This was the only occasion when I met the lady. 



CHAPTER X 

The Bungalow 

r\URING my residence in New York (a period of nineteen 
■*-^ years) I was enabled to carry out to some extent many 
of my early longings to be helpful to others. 

I brought my sister's daughter, who was also my name- 
sake (Ella Wheeler Bond), a born musician, on for a year 
of musical study in the metropolis. She proved a faithful 
student and a most grateful and sweet girl. She returned to 
the West (the family had moved to Nebraska) and has made 
a most successful career for herself since in musical fields. 
Daughters of my brother were sent to school (the oldest to 
college) from the proceeds of my pen; and girls who were not 
relatives, save through the kinship of talent, came into my 
life at times in the capacity of protegees.- A little story written 
by one girl in Chicago attracted my attention. I wrote to the 
author of it, and afterward invited her to visit me. 

It resulted in her remaining in New York, either under my 
roof, or near my home, for a period of seven years, and then 
going to France as a correspondent for an important periodi- 
cal, for another period of seven years. She did not develop 
the talent for story writing which I imagined she possessed; 
but she developed great industry, and made a most commend- 
able place for herself in the literary, musical and educational 
world. And, best of all, she grew steadily in nobility of char- 
acter, which is, after all is said and done, the only kind of 
growth that counts in life. She is one of my dearest friends 
to-day, growing more beautiful with years. 

In my desire to be helpful to girls of talent, I sometimes 
made mistakes of judgment. I know now that we should 
never go out of our way to seek opportunities of service. We 
should do that which comes directly to our attention. When 

138 



THE BUNGALOW 139 

we hunt for people on whom to bestow our favor, we are im- 
plying that the Lords of Wisdom do not know their own 
business. 

One day, in some periodical my husband had brought home, 
I read a few lines of verse which stirred me deeply with their 
great beauty. I had never before seen the name which was at- 
tached to the verses. I wrote a note to the author in care 
of the magazine, saying I wanted to know something about 
her. 

She replied from another American city, and it led to a cor- 
respondence. I spoke to many people of her, and no one had 
ever heard of her. She sent me a number of her verses, and 
they all seemed to breathe forth the spirit of unusual genius. 

I became obsessed with the idea of making the girl known 
to all the literary people and the critics of New York. She 
had told me that she was engaged in a rather uncongenial 
occupation to earn her living, and I imagined her just as eager 
for a larger life, and for the association of kindred minds, as 
I had been out on the Wisconsin farm. I felt as if I might act 
the part of Fairy Godmother to her — the Fairy Godmother I 
used to dream would come into my life as I lay under the slop- 
ing eaves of the old farm house, but who never came. I 
thrilled with the thought of the happiness and benefit I might 
bring into this gifted girl's life. 

I asked her to come and visit me and let me give a reception 
in her honor. My husband saw how eager I was to do this, 
and gave me carte blanche to go ahead. I was living in a 
small apartment, so put the guest up at a nearby hotel. The 
reception was arranged to take place at one of the then prom- 
inent New York hotels, a hotel where my husband had often 
lived as a bachelor, and therefore attractive to me. My delight 
and enjoyment in this affair cannot be described. I had the 
verse which had first attracted my attention printed on a 
ribbon as a souvenir for each guest. I invited everybody I 
had ever met at any of the literary salons — at Mrs. Croly's, 
Mrs. Leslie's, Robert Ingersoll's, Nym Crinkle's (then 
famous as a critic and writer, and whose daughters gave 
charming literary evenings), and at Harriet Webb's (a 



Ho THE WORLDS AND I 

leading light among readers and teachers of elocution), 
and there was a sprinkling of theatrical people, and all the 
newspaper critics were asked, whether I knew them or not. 
Fully one hundred guests responded to my invitation, and 
the carriages extended many blocks down the side street of 
the hotel where the reception took place. 

One then eminent literary man of the city, who had been 
very gracious to me after I came East, called on the day of 
the reception, saying he could not be present in the evening, 
but he wanted to pay his respects to the young lady, whose 
decided talents he, alone of all New York, had noticed before 
I brought her to his attention. I remember how this man, 
while praising my impulse to do the girl honor, expressed a 
doubt regarding its wisdom. He said it was a matter one 
must go about with great care — this making of acquaintances 
in a metropolis. At that time I still saw all my Eastern 
friends through haloes, and I wondered at his remark. It was 
evident, however, that his words impressed my guest. 

The reception was a very joyous and well-ordered affair. 
Several of the young woman's poems were recited; there was 
some good music and a tasteful repast. There were notices 
in all the papers, and the young lady went home the next day 
expressing herself as very grateful for my courtesy. 

She wrote me one brief letter, reiterating her thanks, after 
she reached home. Then, although I wrote her again, a chatty 
letter, she dropped out of my horizon. At Christmas time I 
sent her a little token. A most formal note of acknowledg- 
ment was received by me. Then to my amazement I learned 
that she had been in the city, the guest of the eminent literary 
man to whom I had introduced her, and she had never called, 
or written me of the fact. I wrote and asked her how I had 
offended her, and begged for the opportunity to apologize if 
I had in any way hurt her. She replied with a cold note, say- 
ing she preferred not to say anything about her reason for 
not calling or writing. 

To this day (that is thirty years ago) I have never known 
the explanation of her conduct. I think, however, the literary 
gentleman was very critical of some of my guests who came 



THE BUNGALOW 141 

to do her honor. I know he was severely critical of Mrs. 
Leslie, and the poor girl, despite her great talent, was too 
meager in soul development to realize that she would not be 
contaminated by a casual meeting with some one she might 
not wish to keep as a constant companion, and too stunted in 
heart to grasp the fact that my impulse had been absolutely 
without any motive other than to give her pleasure while 
I repaid many social debts, through a unique and worth-while 
reception in her honor. 

There was at that time a New York daily paper which 
prided itself upon its personalities of a sarcastic and disagree- 
able kind. Its editor had already made me the subject of 
some unkind items. He indulged in a half column of caustic 
comment on the reception I gave the unknown poet, declaring 
it was done with the desire to hoist myself into public notice. 
No more unjust words were ever written, but my guest must 
have felt they were true ; thereby she displayed still more pain- 
fully her lack of perception and lack of the delicate qualities 
which make real womanhood. To this day, when I see the 
occasional gems of beauty which still fall from this poet's pen, 
I feel the old wound ache in my heart. My impulse was so 
absolutely spontaneous and kind, and the hurt I received was 
so needless. 

Worse than the personal hurt was the blow to my ideal of 
the poet. A mortal on whom God had bestowed the divine 
power of creation, in any art, seemed to me one who must be 
incapable of any belittling fault, and of the petty sins like 
envy, jealousy or ingratitude. I could understand those gifted 
beings falling through mighty passions and colossal tempta- 
tions, born of their intensity of emotions. But the mean and 
ignominious sins I had not associated with genius until that 
experience. Such people are, I am sure, mere vehicles 
through which at times disembodied intelligences work. They 
are no more the real creators than is the telephone wire or 
receiver the person speaking. 

Life, however, always applies a balm after it has wounded 
us. The spring following this experience my husband se- 
lected a larger apartment, where we moved, to remain five 



142 THE WORLDS AND I 

very happy years, and where it was my privilege to enjoy a 
circle of delightful friends. Later we spent several beautiful 
years at the old Everett House, and both of these places were 
joy filled for me. Our summers we had for six years spent 
at various resorts; three of them at Narragansett Pier. But 
one fortunate day, on our return from the latter place, we 
stopped off at New Haven, and my husband engaged a 
horse and light carriage, and we drove out seven miles to 
Short-Beach-on-the-Sound, to call on dear Aunt Hattie, who 
with her married daughter (wife of Gardner Reckard, the 
artist) was spending a few weeks there. We had never seen 
this place, which is only a few miles from Thimble Islands. 
Its wonderful and rare beauty, of pink granite rocks, majes- 
tic trees, and wide expanse of water, seized us both in a grasp 
which never relaxed; the next summer saw our darling 
house built on the rocks overhanging the Sound; and in this 
house (which was the first cottage east of the Rockies to 
be called "The Bungalow" ) and the living house built after- 
ward, which was named "The Barracks" by my husband, we 
spent every summer of our united lives afterward. 

Shorter and shorter grew my months in New York, longer 
and longer the season at the shore home. And finally when 
my husband was wise enough to go out of business (without 
waiting to acquire millions as most American men do), we 
spent all the time not given to travel in this Earthly Eden. 

We made the resolution that no one should ever be invited 
to partake of our hospitality in the Bungalow save those for 
whom we felt a genuine affection or regard. No mere busi- 
ness acquaintances, and no one to whom we merely owed 
social obligations; those should be entertained elsewhere; but 
the Bungalow at Short-Beach-on-the-Sound (Granite Bay) 
should be kept for the near and dear ones bound to us by 
ties of affection. This house was the first home which ever 
satisfied my husband's heart. While we made home quickly 
of any place we occupied, the true home feeling and every 
home craving found expression and satisfaction in our ador- 
able nest on the pink rocks. 

As my years went on in New York, fate brought into my 



THE BUNGALOW 143 

life a circle of gifted and beautiful girls who were destined to 
play a large part in my happy social and domestic life, at 
Granite Bay. 

Two very charming girls, sisters, who were in the habit of 
calling on me frequently, one day urged me to accept an in- 
vitation to a large suburban house party. I had never met 
the host and hostess, but they urged the sisters to bring me, 
after sending me a very sweet letter of invitation. I went — 
and among the twenty-two guests, the most strikingly beauti- 
ful and interesting person there was Julie Opp, now Mrs. 
William Faversham. ( She was just out of the Convent, where 
she had been educated? and her statuesque beauty and charm 
of manner at once appealed to me. Finding her home was in 
New York, I asked her to come and be my guest the next 
Sunday afternoon, and ever since that hour we have been fast 
friends. Julie had not the slightest idea of becoming an 
actress at that time. She did plan a little later to write, and 
after translating a fashion article from a French magazine 
she sold it to a New York editor, and the money therefor she 
used in buying me a gift — a silver glove mender! I still 
have it in my sewing bag. 

Mrs. Henry Plant was a gracious friend of Miss Opp's, 
and many other ladies who entertained much found her at- 
tractive presence, her agreeable manners and her gift at 
conversation drawing features for the entertainment of their 
guests. Julie was immensely popular with her own sex, which 
is not supposed to be usual with a pronounced beauty. At 
somebody's "Afternoon" a few months later Julie introduced 
to my husband and me (it chanced to be one of the occasional 
affairs of that nature which my man attended), two beautiful 
sisters, Kate and Martha Jordan. Kate was in the public eye 
because of stories she had written at a very early age. She 
had just received a prize from Scribner's Magazine for the 
best story in a competition. She was striking in appearance, 
a voluptuous brunette, with a very pale skin, scarlet mouth 
and quantities of blue-black hair which curled naturally. 
Martha, her sister, was petite, of the Cupid build, very blonde, 
and her eyes were pure sapphire. Both girls were possessed 



144 THE WORLDS AND I 

of the real Irish wit and power of repartee; and both were 
musically inclined. My husband admired them greatly and 
we made them at once a part of the circle we planned to have 
visit us in our Bungalow. 

The three girls came together a few months later. We met 
them with our launch at Bran ford Harbor and took them over 
a tossing sea to our eyrie on the rock ; and such happy, beau- 
tiful days followed — that summer and many summers there- 
after. So enamored were they of the place that they rented 
a little cottage adjacent to our own, which my husband had 
just purchased, and bringing another girl friend, "Adele" and 
a chaperone, they came back after a week or two in the city, 
for the summer. 

Because of the purely feminine nature of the household 
they named the cottage "Amazonia" ; and that name clung to 
it until two years ago, when we changed it to "Arcadia." Kate 
was writing a new novel that summer, and Julie was writing 
also, and Martha was supplying a syndicate with some tales 
of emotional adventure which she did under a pen name. All 
were good swimmers, and after their work was done there 
were boating and swimming and dancing at the old Bran ford 
House, and there were wonderful hours of gathering in 
the cabin of our Bungalow and indulging in long intimate talks 
and reading the newest books. Intellectual and interesting men, 
of course, followed this attractive trio of girls to our retreat. 
The girls declared they would never feel satisfied with a 
honeymoon which did not include a week at the Bungalow. 
We promised the three we would help them to carry out this 
desire if they supplied the bridegrooms, and Martha and Kate 
spent the first week of their subsequent marriages, some 
years later, in our Bungalow. Until the summer of 1909, 
when her lovely soul took flight from earth, Martha Jordan 
was always our guest some time during our yearly sojourn 
at the seashore home. And Kate still comes to the spot hal- 
lowed with wonderful memories, and Julie Opp Faversham 
and her gifted husband and her beautiful sons have often been 
our guests. 

Next in the order of succession, there dropped into 



THE BUNGALOW 145 

our midst an adorable girl in her teens, with the joy of 
life in tier blue eyes and the soul of a poet in her radiant 
breast. This was "Theodosja Garrison," then Theodosia 
Pickering, of Newark, New Jersey, and now Mrs. Frederic 
Faulks, of Elizabeth, New Jersey — and of the whole world, 
for her rare poetical talents have made her universally known. 

It was through my husband's acquaintance with her father, 
Silas Pickering, that this lovely friend came into my life, to 
make such an important feature of it. 

Mr. Pickering told my husband he would like to have his 
young daughter meet me, so Robert arranged to bring her 
down for a week end one September day. I had no idea 
before she came what she was like ; and during the first half 
hour of her visit thought of her as a typical summer girl, 
golden of hair, turquoise of eye, slender of form, and very 
young indeed. The next half hour I learned that she was a 
sea nymph, excelling in swimming and diving; and an hour 
later at dinner, where we had guests, discovered she was daz- 
zling with wit, astonishingly brilliant in conversation, and 
acquainted with the works of every author living and dead. 
The next morning I learned that she had written a poem while 
in her room, a real poem worthy of the name. She told me 
she had always, since a child, written verse ; but had published 
only two or three bits. Before she had reached her middle 
twenties, however, Theodosia Garrison was a name univer- 
sally known. 

First as a girl, then as the wife of a man who became a help- 
less invalid, then as a fascinating widow, and now as the hap- 
piest wife on earth, she, who is known to the public as Theo- 
dosia Garrison, has been my guest and friend during all the 
wonderful years since first we met. Her poetical gifts were 
so natural and spontaneous that she did not at first realize 
their importance — as a child might pluck and play with rare 
orchids, unconscious of their value ; but gradually the meaning 
of the gift God had bestowed upon her grew into her under- 
standing, and with each year her talents ripened. / I know of 
no other poet in America possessed of a more ryrical power 
of expression. Had she possessed ambition for achievement, 



146 THE WORLDS AND I 

there are no heights Theodosia Garrison might not have at- 
tained; but curiously enough she has not the least desire to 
shine or to be thought great. She sings as the larks sing, 
with the joy of life. 

My memory treasures golden summer hours when "Dosia" 
sat at one desk and I at another writing poems which we after- 
ward read to each other, each glad of the honest criticism 
of the listener. 

Then there were swimming bouts to "Green Island'' and 
back to our Pier; and long talks in the sun on the seawall 
where we dried our hair. Then the beloved Master of the 
House would steal our guest away for a whist, bridge or auc- 
tion game, wherein she excelled, like the female "Admirable 
Crichton" she is. 

Lovely of personality, absolutely free from belittling jeal- 
ousy or small gossip; as unselfish as she is brilliant, it is no 
wonder we felt privileged to be the friend and entertainer 
of Theodosia Garrison. She is the wittiest woman living and 
an incomparable mimic. ) Kate, Martha and Theodosia, meet- 
ing first on our Bungalow veranda, formed an enduring friend- 
ship ; and star weeks in our memory are those when we enter- 
tained them all together. 

Theodosia Garrison and I were sympathetic on still another 
point; we both loathed mathematics, and both had distin- 
guished ourselves in early youth by our failures in figures. 

One day she was writing a lyric at the Bungalow, and I 
was filling an editor's request to write an article on giving 
daughters an independent income. Undertaking to calculate 
how many dollars would result from a penny a day for eighteen 
years, I became confused and appealed to my poet friend. 
"Dosia," I called, "how much money would a girl have at 
eighteen if her parents had saved a penny a day from the 
time she was born?" "Wait a minute," Dosia replied, "and 
I will tell you." After a few moments she called forth, "I 
make it about seven thousand dollars." "Well," I said, "I 
made it six and over so I am safe to say it would be over five 
thousand." I sent in my little article and the kind and trust- 
ing editor used it without blue-penciling. It appeared in an 



THE BUNGALOW 147 

evening paper while my husband was on a trip West. He 
read it and wrote me, "Great Heavens, Ella, some mathema- 
tician ! You are safe on verse, my dear, but do go carefully 
when you approach mathematics." A stranger wrote me a 
few days later : "Madam, I have considered you a good poet 
and very much of a philosopher but God knows you are no 
mathematician. Are you aware that your blushing bride in or- 
der to have that amount of money for a dot would be ninety- 
five years old ?" Since then I have never consulted Theodosia 
on figures. 

Another rare gem in my collection of lovely girl friends 
was Helen Pitkin, of New Orleans, daughter of the then min- 
ister to the Argentine Republic and Ex-Postmaster of New 
Orleans, now Mrs. Christian Schertz of that town. Beauty, 
culture and numberless accomplishments made Miss Helen 
a belle at sixteen and good fortune lent her to me every sum- 
mer before and after her marriage until the beginning of the 
present war. Helen of Orleans is a skillful harpist, a linguist, 
and a combination of Mesdames Recamier and de Stael in that 
she is as beautiful as she is brilliant. She is, too, the author 
of two books of prose and of many lyrics in verse. 

Before the electric lights came to Short Beach we used 
to set apart one night in the summer, which we called "Illu- 
mination Night." Every cottage and all the piers and the 
boats were illuminated with colored lanterns, each family 
vying in friendly spirit to produce the finest effect. This oc- 
casion always ended up with a ball in the cabin of "The Bun- 
galow." One year I conceived the idea of lighting up a 
big barge and having it towed about the Sound near the shore 
by our launch, with the Goddess of Liberty and the thirteen 
original states represented by fourteen beautiful girls in classic 
draperies. This I carried out, with the cooperation of my 
friends, most successfully, Julie Opp being my Goddess of 
Liberty. Her slender statuesque beauty was just in its early 
dawn and I am sure in all her later stage appearances she 
was never more wonderful than on that perfect August eve- 
ning. 



148 THE WORLDS AND I 

I am sure, too, there was never a part more fitted for this 
beautiful and progressive woman than that of Liberty. 

From the hour I first knew Julie Opp to the present day, 
she has always suggested to me freedom from small thoughts, 
aims and prejudices. She has always been big in her ideals 
of life. Very early she endeared herself to me at one of my 
Bungalow Balls, where she was the belle of the evening. Com- 
ing to me quietly, she said, "I do not want to fill my dancing 
card right away. I want you to tell me if you have any awk- 
ward boys or old bachelors who are not popular with the 
girls. I may as well help them to have a good time by danc- 
ing with them ; and then let me introduce to the wall flowers 
some of these Yale men who are flocking about. I know how 
hard it is for a hostess to manage things like that sometimes. 
Between us we can give everybody a good time." 

Even to talk with Julie Opp Faversham over the telephone 
gives me a sense of larger horizons. She has from her early 
youth drawn the best and most worth-while people in every 
line of art and endeavor to her./ 

Her power of overcoming difficulties of all kinds is almost 
abnormal. When her first longed-for son was lying still-born 
in the house, and she was almost at death's door, she faintly 
whispered, "Two years from this time I shall give my hus- 
band a living son ; and two years after that another." 

This was told me by one who heard it, and who was angry 
with her for not feeling that her one sacrifice had been enough. 
"She will never be a well woman after this," the friend said, 
but Julie grew well and more beautiful than ever and bore 
her husband the two sons. 

Some years later she was told by specialists that she was 
the victim of a fatal malady; but again she overcame, and all 
signs of this malady have vanished before her courage and 
will. 

The next year following the Goddess of Liberty tableau I 
planned "Cleopatra going up the Nile in her Barge," and 
all my historic characters were prepared and anticipating the 
event, which was destined not to occur, because of a wild 
northeast storm which swept over the coast on that particular 



THE BUNGALOW 149 

night. Later in the season, however, I did carry out a very 
effective water scene wherein Miss Pitkin appeared as "Ten- 
nyson's Elaine" upon "The Barge of the Dead Steered by the 
Dumb." Miss Pitkin's luxuriant hair was just the color of 
moonlight and she appeared like a moonbeam phantom rather 
than a real personality in her role. She has been known to 
her friends in Bungalow Court since then as "Elaine." 

During our early summers at the Bungalow, my husband 
and I became greatly interested in a most unusual child, 
named Elna Harwood. Her parents were New Yorkers; her 
mother a cultured young English woman. Elna was very 
blond and very fair to look upon, and even as a child she swam 
and dived like a mermaid and rode a horse like a cowboy and 
won all the medals in the sprinting races for the children. 
Added to this she was the leader in her studies at school, and 
my attention was first called to her by reading some verses she 
had written. One day in a big thunder storm she rushed into 
the Bungalow, all out of breath, saying a poem had come to 
her and she wanted to sit at my desk and write it : and it really 
possessed lines of true poetic worth. I watched her develop- 
ment each summer with interest ; and was not surprised when 
she carried off the literary prizes in two schools, the last being 
the Normal College. She had, in the meantime, been a year 
in England and France, and when she finally took up the 
work of a teacher, I felt considerable regret, feeling her pen 
should be her prop, rather than the teacher's rule. Then one 
bright day Elna married the finest of her many suitors; and 
the three vigorous children which came into her life seemed 
to fill it so full that we felt she would have neither time nor 
inclination for developing her latent literary gifts. I, for one, 
was not troubled over this. The woman who is married to 
the man of her heart and is the mother of his children seems 
to me to have found the highest possible mission which life 
can offer. 

Destiny, however, had other plans for Elna. One day her 
husband fell ill — a very serious illness which necessitated his 
spending months in a hospital. That was only a few years 
ago, but now the name of Elna Harwood Wharton is al- 



150 THE WORLDS AND I 

ready recognized by the readers of various magazines where 
her stories and other contributions have made her a feature. 
During her husband's illness, to distract her mind, and with 
an ultimate hope of supplying something of the missing in- 
come from her husband's inability to pursue his profession, 
Elna Harwood took up her pen. Her talent, supplemented 
by thorough education, and ripened by the deep experiences of 
wifehood and motherhood, sprang almost full grown into 
power. The very first story she ever submitted to an editor 
brought her five hundred dollars. She is destined to become 
one of American's brighest literary lights as time goes on. 
Elna Harwood Wharton (Mrs. George Wharton) lives in 
Washington, D. C, where Mr. Wharton holds a desirable 
position in the employ of the Government. She likes to call 
herself "one of the Bungalow girls," and it was in the early 
years of her beautiful teens that I wrote the following verses 
wherein she figures prominently. Our launch, which my 
husband named "The Robella" by combining our two names, 
gave us and our friends great pleasure for twelve years. My 
special delight was to take it out in a rolling sea, filled with 
girls and boys who were all fine swimmers, and to bound over 
the big waves and take the spray and "the tenth wave" in our 
faces : then, as we neared shore, on the return, to see our most 
adventurous swimmers leap into the water and swim to the 
pier. Elna was always one of these. 

MY LAUNCH AND I 

What glorious times we have together, 
My launch and I, in the summer weather! 
My trim little launch with its sturdy sides 
And its strong heart beating away as it glides 
Out of the harbor and out of the bay, 
Wherever our fancy may lead away, 
Rollicking over the salt track 
Hurrying seaward and hurrying back. 

My boat has never a braggart sail, 

To boast in the breeze, in the calm to quail; 

No tyrant boom deals a sudden blow, 

Saying, "You are my lackey, bend low, bend low!" 



THE BUNGALOW 151 

No mast struts over a windless sea 
To show how powerless pride may be. 
But sure and steady and true and staunch 
It bounds o'er the billows, — my little launch. 

Ready and willing and quick to feel 
The slightest touch of my hand on the wheel 
It laughs in the teeth of a driving gale, 
Or skims by the cat-boat's drooping sail. 
Its head held high when the Sound is still, 
Then dipping its prow like a water bird's bill 
Down under the waves of a rolling sea — 
Oh, my gay little launch is the boat for me ! 

Ofttimes when the great Sound seethes and swirls 

I carry a cargo of laughing girls. 

Bare-armed, bare-limbed, and with hanging hair 

They are bold as mermaids and twice as fair. 

They swarm from the cabin, — they perch on the prow, 

When the tenth wave batters them, breast and brow, 

They bloom the brighter, as sea flowers do 

While their shrill, sweet merriment bursts anew. 

And oft when the sunset dyes the bay 
O'er a mirror-like surface, we glide away, 
My launch and I, to follow the breeze 
That has jilted the shore for the deeper seas. 
When the full moon flirts with the perigee tide 
On a track of silver, away we ride — 
Oh, glorious times we have together, 
My boat and I, in the summer weather. 

Larry Chittenden, the "Poet Ranchman" and the globe 
trotter, was one of our literary and aquatic celebrities in 
those days and found his chief pleasure in teaching pretty 
girls new strokes in swimming. Edwin Markham and his 
cultured and brilliant wife visited us when their tall son, 
Virgil, was. a child cherub. We have, in our Log Book, a 
most attractive snap shot of the Jove-headed poet holding 
his rebellious baby boy in his arms after treating him to an 
undesired dip in the waves. 

In later years we added to our list of illustrious masculine 
names that of Charles Hanson Towne, poet, editor and wit. 



152 THE WORLDS AND I 

My husband conceived the idea one day, when we were en- 
tertaining Oliver Herford (that combination of poet and 
artist), of substituting the walls of our dining-room for a 
guest book. So Oliver Herford wrote a witty quatrain, with 
illuminated colors, on our wall: and since that time a small 
army of gifted guests have added thereto either poems, 
original sketches, bars of music, or, in the case of actors, 
quotations from plays made famous by their talents. One 
which always attracts a great deal of attention is a droll 
sketch made by Jack Barrymore, called "The First Night," 
which was drawn on the wall the day after he opened in New 
Haven with his "Fortune Hunter." 

For fifteen years in succession we gave a costume ball at the 
season's height. After the scattering, through marriage, death 
and time, of many of those who made these balls distinctive, we 
discontinued them and substituted Sunday afternoon musicales 
during July and August for the entertainment of our little 
colony, to whom we introduced ofttimes many rare artists. On 
two occasions Ruth St. Denis (who is lovelier and greater in 
character even than as an artist) gave us some of her most 
artistic delineations of the religious dances of history. On 
another occasion, straight from study in the Orient, Eva 
Gautier, niece of Sir Wilfred Laurier, ex-Premier of Canada, 
gave us the wonderful Javanese songs which later proved a 
great success professionally. Ofttimes, as I looked about my 
rooms on such occasions, and saw the beauty of my environ- 
ment, the culture and worth of my friends, and, best of all, 
realized the holiness and sweetness of the love that envel- 
oped me in my home, I recalled the hour when the little Ori- 
ental paper-knife came to me on the Western farm and all 
that it represented to me at that moment, in a strange half 
vision — a vision which has been so more than realized in my 
actual life. 

Although space has been given in these Memoirs only 
to those of my acquaintance who have figured since to some 
extent in the public eye, the story of my life would seem 
incomplete to me without more detailed mention of Martha 
Jordan, afterward Martha Jordan Fishel. From our first 



THE BUNGALOW 153 

meeting Martha and I became very close friends; and her 
position in our home was very nearly that of a daughter. 
Of good Irish lineage, Martha possessed the keen sense of 
humor, the quick wit, the artistic temperament, the gift of 
song and the love of poetry which that land bestows upon its 
children. Her beauty, too, told of a line of high-born Irish 
forebears. Outside of the stage world, no one we ever knew 
could tell a story or sing a song or give an impersonation like 
Martha Jordan. Her discrimination in music, literature and 
art was that of a connoisseur; and her taste in home furnish- 
ing would have given her an occupation had she desired it. 
Had she chosen the operatic stage as a means of expression, 
her voice, her beauty and her magnetism would have placed 
her in the front ranks. Martha was a center about which 
bright and gifted people loved to revolve. Caring absolutely 
nothing for general society, Martha distinguished herself 
as a giver of brilliant little dinners where good viands and 
good taste and good minds united to make the occasions 
distinctive. 

Martha occupied for several years prior to her passing 
onward, a slim and proud-looking little brick house on Irving 
Place, just around the corner of Seventeenth Street. Its out- 
ward appearance was individual, but its interior was im- 
pressive with artistic taste, and even the walls seemed to 
breathe forth the personality of its unusual mistress. A record 
of Martha's dinners should have been kept, for I doubt if in 
all New York more memorable ones have occurred. Every- 
body who sat at Martha's table was worth knowing; and she 
had a habit of keeping her guests at the table instead of scat- 
tering and separating the men and women after dessert. 
Those post-coffee hours were so genial and brilliant that they 
sometimes trespassed upon the season supposed to belong to 
slumber. 

Martha went out of earth life in the full bloom of woman- 
hood : went before life had too cruelly disillusionized her, 
although she had known sickness and suffering : went, leaving 
us all with the memory of her radiant personality and her 
vivid interest in the things of earth. 



154 THE WORLDS AND I 

With her going, a certain youthful epoch in the social life 
of our Bungalow seemed to end. After the first deep shad- 
ows lifted we still saw life through sunshine, and still found 
pleasure in our friends. But we all felt older; more sub- 
dued; and something was lacking from our gatherings which 
has never since been supplied. 

But that Martha still lives and still feels interest in us, 
and that she is very happy in her celestial world, some of us 
have had proof, now after eight years; and she does not seem 
so lost to us. 

Of this, later. 



CHAPTER XI 
Little Efforts At Brotherhood 

THE leading desire of my husband's heart, from the time 
we became convinced that our one spirit child was to 
be our only offspring, in this incarnation, was to found some 
beautiful charity for children. 

After we built our nest on the rocks at Granite Bay (Short- 
Beach-on-the-Sound) we added to our possessions four lit- 
tle cottages which were so near our bungalow that their 
proximity was embarrassing. My husband purchased them, 
moved them back a short distance, remodeled them, and each 
summer found ready tenants for three of them. The fourth 
we had entirely removed from the premises, in order to erect 
our living house, "The Barracks," in its place — a most de- 
sirable location, within a stone's throw of the beach and 
affording a beautiful outlook. 

Something like a half mile from our little cluster of houses 
there was an old farmhouse for sale, on the corner of the 
road leading to Double Beach and surrounded by tall trees. 
My husband for years cherished a dream of purchasing this 
house, with several acres of ground, and making it a sum- 
mer home for orphan children. He even named it "The Ella 
Wheeler Home." Many were the plans he made regarding 
it, and bitter was his disappointment when he came to realize 
that the fortune necessary for the carrying out of his ideal 
would not come during his lifetime. 

But one summer the tenants in our smallest cottage (which 
we named "The Midge") left in mid-August; and I proposed 
to my husband that while we were waiting to carry out the 
large ideal of helpfulness we might proceed on a smaller 
scale. My suggestion was that we give "The Midge" rent 
free and provide transportation and sustenance to some 

i55 



156 THE WORLDS AND I 

worthy person or persons for the remaining weeks of the 
summer. At that time Rose Hawthorne (the daughter of 
Nathaniel and the sister of Julian) had embraced the Roman 
Catholic religion and was active in works of charity in the 
lower part of New York City. I wrote to Sister Rose and 
explained my idea ; I wanted three tired women, or a woman 
with two children, who needed a change of air and the benefit 
of the seashore life, for a month. I preferred people who 
would be cleanly in their habits and not liable to bring any 
contagious diseases, and people believed to be honest. Other- 
wise, I had no strings tied to my little benefit. 

Sister Rose sent me a pallid young girl of twenty who was 
weak from the result of a slow fever and unable to go back 
to her work — it was, I believe, some small clerical position, 
I have forgotten just what; and I have forgotten her name. 
But I remember her sweet face and manner ; and her wonder- 
ful joy at her first sight of a boat ; a row-boat, in which she 
went out each day all by herself, after she learned how to 
row. And I remember how like a plant brought out of a 
cellar into the sunlight she blossomed forth in that month. 

Besides this girl there was a gaunt pale woman of perhaps 
fifty who had for many years, the better part of her life, 
been employed in a tailor's shop, where she wielded a heavy 
pressing iron. She had become too weak to keep up this 
work; and for the space of a year she had been taking care 
of a wee boy named Jimmie, whose mother had died at his 
birth, and whose father, a day laborer, gave this woman two 
dollars a week to take care of Jimmie. There were older 
children at home, but no one old enough to care for the little 
mite. 

I think Jimmie was three that summer; but he looked no 
larger than many children of a year. His mind, however, 
was very bright ; and we all grew to love little Jimmie and to 
watch for his small form and short legs to come toddling 
across the lawn to make a daily call. He had been taught to 
salute his elders like.a soldier; and it was the delight of my 
husband to receive and answer this salute. I had told the 
pale protector of Jimmie, who was the housekeeper for the 



LITTLE EFFORTS AT BROTHERHOOD 157 

three, to obtain whatever she desired for the table at the lit- 
tle country store, and charge it in my name. When, at the 
end of the first week, I received my bill, it was so insignifi- 
cant a sum I felt there must be some error. The storekeeper 
assured me it was correct. Then I approached the pale tenant 
on the subject, saying I was confident she was not providing 
sufficient food for the three of them. She looked at me in 
amazement. "Why, dear Lady," she said, "we are living on 
the fat of the land. I think you have never known what 
real economy means ; and never learned, through being obliged 
to count your pennies, how to buy with care. I assure you 
we have all we need or could eat, and you can see how we 
are all improving." 

The young girl and Jimmie were, indeed, showing decided 
improvement; but the pale protector of little Jimmie re- 
mained pale and attenuated; and I learned afterward that 
she was the victim of an incurable malady. I often wish I 
knew what became of the pretty girl and little Jimmie. It 
was fully sixteen years ago when we had the pleasure of 
giving them that month of recreation, and with the exception 
of a letter received the first few months afterward, I never 
heard from them or of them again. 

Some time later, we gave that same cottage rent free for 
two summer months to some very intellectual acquaintances 
who were passing through a season of hard luck; and to 
save them from being penned in a hot city flat during the 
summer we suggested their occupying our cottage. They 
occupied it; but the experience did not prove as pleasant or 
as gratifying to us as had the presence of the little city clerk 
and Jimmie and his pale protector. It is heart and not head 
which renders the association with our fellow creatures satis- 
fying, the ability to feel gratitude and appreciation rather 
than the ability to criticize. 

Our intellectual acquaintances prided themselves on their 
ability to dissect their fellows and to pin the dissected por- 
tions on the wall and analyze them. They dissected their 
host and hostess and all their friends, declaring that we were 
quite too democratic in our ideas and were lacking in dis- 



158 THE WORLDS AND I 

crimination. They proceeded to point out all the faults and 
failings of our guests until we cried a halt and requested 
them to vacate the cottage. 

Finding we could not always carry out our desire to be- 
stow some of our blessings on the really deserving in the 
ways described, we made a resolution to let no one who came 
to our doors go away without feeling that life was a bit 
sweeter than before they approached us. We taught our 
helpers and employees to treat mendicants with sympathy 
and peddlers with respect; when it was impossible to bestow 
money on the mendicants, at least to offer food ; and when it 
was impossible to patronize peddlers, to make it understood 
courteously, not brusquely. In fact, to live our religion of 
brotherhood, which is the basis of theosophy. 

When we first made our home at Granite Bay, and for sev- 
eral years thereafter, the resort was only reached by a four- 
horse stage from East Haven, or by boats. Those were 
picturesque days and we loved our isolation from the modern 
methods of travel. I used to feel I was living in medieval 
times as the four-horse stage swung around the sharp curves 
of "Snake Hill," and I clung with both hands to the seat 
of the vehicle to prevent being tossed out. As the town grew 
in population the discomforts of this mode of travel became 
manifest, yet when the railroad first talked of putting the 
trolley service through Short Beach most of us fought it 
tooth and nail. We feared an invasion of undesirables, and 
dreaded seeing our romantic resort turned into a Coney 
Island. It was sympathy for over-taxed stage horses that led 
us finally to desire the trolley. After that mode of travel 
was established the little matter of entertaining peddlers be- 
came more difficult. They had heard of our hospitable habits 
and they came upon us in shoals. We could not buy even 
trifles of six peddlers in a day; but we could at least keep in 
mind the fact that these men and women were trying to earn 
a livelihood, trying to keep themselves from becoming beg- 
gars, and we did what we could to help them retain their self- 
respect while we did not patronize all of them. 



LITTLE EFFORTS AT BROTHERHOOD 159 

Neither my husband nor myself contributed to foreign 
missions, and after we had abandoned the hope of establish- 
ing a large charity, we tried to make both the Bungalow and 
the Barracks, in a small way, represent my husband's orig- 
inal idea of an "Ella Wheeler Home." Many beggars, many 
cripples, many "down and outs" and a few ex-convicts came 
to our doors during the twenty-five years we lived together. 
Doubtless there were many cheats and frauds among them, 
but I do not believe we ever sent any one away without some 
little feeling of uplift. I remember one man who came and 
told me a tragic story of his life, saying he was just released 
from prison, and asking for money to go to Boston, where 
he had an old mother. I helped him and felt glad to think 
I could do so. Shortly afterward my husband learned that 
the man had indeed been a prison inmate, but that he lived 
near us and that he used the money I had given him to treat 
all his boon companions to drinks within an hour after he 
left me. The man came again a month later, and I allowed 
him to tell his new story of being detained by illness, and to 
ask me for more money. Then I told him what I had learned 
about him. The unkindness of his deception toward me 
turned the anger I felt at first into grief, and I began to cry. 
The man looked at me a moment in silence; then he rose up 
and came and stood before me. "This is the first time," he 
said, "that I ever saw a woman cry for me. I want to tell 
you I will never trouble you again ; I was born crooked and I 
guess I will always stay crooked ; but I will never bother you 
again. Will you shake hands with me?" 

I took his proffered hand and tried to make him promise to 
turn over a new page in life's diary. But he shook his head. 
"I'm crooked, I tell you. I can't help lying and stealing. 
But you'll never have any trouble from me again." And I 
never did. 

The frankness of some of our back door callers was as amus- 
ing as amazing. I gave a soiled and husky-looking man food 
one morning. He said he had slept under a tree and wanted 
breakfast before tramping on to Boston where he had an old 
mother. I asked him where he came from. "Oh, from serv- 



160 THE WORLDS AND I 

ing time in Joliet," he smilingly answered. "What was your 
crime ?" I asked. "Oh, taking things that didn't belong to 
me," he said. "You see, I drink. It just comes on me by 
spells; and then I go all wrong. I get good positions and 
then I lose them that way." And again he smiled and went 
away smiling. 

Another came to the door smelling of drink. He confessed 
he had used his last dime for a drink. "What is the use try- 
ing to be decent ?" he said. "No decent people will have any- 
thing to do with a man after he has made a bad record. I've 
tried; it's no use. So I may as well just get what little cheer 
there is in a drink now and then." 

During all those twenty-five years at our Bungalow, where 
we spent five months every summer, we never locked a door 
at night and we were never molested nor did thieves break 
in and steal. 

While my husband was ever liberal in his helpfulness to 
the Chapel at Short-Beach-on-the-Sound, we did not attend 
the services there. This grieved a few of the very orthodox 
residents, who saw no road to God save through the path 
they trod. Yet in all that town I never knew another soul so 
reverent as that which dwelt in the strong body of my Robert. 

So great are the natural beauties of Short-Beach-on-the- 
Sound that it has always seemed to me that one who had the 
privilege of dwelling there must become reverent and religious. 

I have circled the world almost twice and I have seen so 
much beauty that the memory of it is like a panorama of glory 
upon glory. I have seen the wonders of the drive from 
Sorento to Amalfi; the majesty of the drive over Mt. Diablo 
in Jamaica at dawn ; the tropical splendors of the drive from 
Colombo to Kandy in Ceylon; and I have stood on the edge 
of glaciers in Switzerland awed at the picture spread before 
me. I have seen Stromboli sending a flame of fire hundreds 
of feet in the air at night while its river of fire ran down the 
volcano to the sea below ; and I have sat in the old Greek 
theater in Taormina, Sicily, 8,000 feet above the earth, and 
gazed on Mt. Etna in the distance lifting itself 11,000 feet 
over the Ionian Sea; I have watched the sun turn sapphire 



LITTLE EFFORTS AT BROTHERHOOD 161 

sea and azure clouds to vermilion, as it went down on this 
glorious scene. These and many more wonders of God's 
earth have I beheld, yet nowhere have I found any other spot 
which seemed to me to combine so much beauty, comfort, 
convenience, and charm for the enjoyment of simple and 
wholesome life as Short-Beach-on-the-Sound at Granite Bay. 
Its sunrises and sunsets are as exquisite as those of the 
Orient; its rocks change from pink to amethyst and then to 
gray with the change of climatic conditions; its waters show 
a thousand moods and a hundred shades and provide a far 
greater variety of effects than do the waters of the greater 
ocean. They shine and murmur in the dawn, they ripple 
and glow like vibrating molten diamonds in the morning; 
they leap and threaten at noon ; they roar and rage and grow 
in power with the incoming tide, and they lie at the feet of 
the rocks in the evening, singing a lullaby. 

GRANITE BAY 

At Granite Bay, such beauty lies, 
In rocks, in waters and in skies, 
As poets dream of Paradise. 

The rocks that clasp fair Granite Bay 
First saw her charms at break of day 
And flushed to pink from somber gray. 

To guard this bay from rude alarms 
And shelter her from all that harms 
Great trees reach out protecting arms. 

Down to the very water's edge, 
Between the granite rocks they wedge, 
And watch in silence from each ledge. 

Defending points and islands stand 
And reefs of rocks run out from land, 
To keep rude billows well in hand. 

The river and the bay are friends ; 
One slender arm the river bends 
And all her anchored boats defends. 



162 THE WORLDS AND I 

So much one island loves her grace, 
He fronts all dangers in his place, 
To shield the beauty of her face. 

Loved by the forest and the shore, 
While sun and moon, and skies adore, 
The strong rocks hold her evermore. 

At Granite Bay the wild winds rest; 
The sunlight is her welcome guest; 
The moon goes mad upon her breast. 

Not here is heard the sea gulls' scream. 
They come, but only come to dream: 
Far out at sea their sorrows seem. 

At Granite Bay, far out at sea 
My cares and troubles seem to me; 
Love, joy and hope remain, these three. 

Though forth my wandering footsteps stray, 
To realms and regions far away, 
My heart dwells here, in Granite Bay. 

When in 1891 we first built our Bungalow on the pink 
granite rocks at Short-Beach-on-the-Sound, the leading busi- 
ness emporium was Knowles' Store. It was combination 
store, post-office, express and business office in one. Every- 
body went to Knowles' store for everything. Mr. E. B. 
Knowles, the owner and manager, was an important factor 
just then in local politics. He was a tall man, fully six feet 
in height, square of shoulder, full of chest, ruddy of skin 
and very good-looking. His voice was deep-toned, and pos- 
sessed unusual musical cadences. Mr. Knowles had all the 
attributes which with early educational advantages would 
have made him a man of parts and power in a larger world. 
As a small lad he had attracted the attention of an old her- 
mit of some means. The old hermit, it was said, had been 
crossed in love and so hid away in these then remote regions, 
and drowned his sorrow in drink. But his heart was tender 
and his perceptions keen. He offered to send the Knowles 
lad to a military school; but his parents were poor and felt 



LITTLE EFFORTS AT BROTHERHOOD 163 

they could not spare him. I think it was always a bitter 
memory in Mr. Knowles' heart — this lost opportunity. He 
felt he was capable of so much more in the way of achieve- 
ment than he had been able to do without education. He 
loved to read, and was always well informed. 

There was an aggressive quality about him which, with 
his political interests, made him enemies. Our very first 
weeks in Short Beach, some one of his enemies had spoken 
disparagingly of him. As soon as I met him, however, I felt 
a great liking for the man. I had been down at the post-office 
for the mail; and when I came home I said to my husband, 
"I have met Mr. Knowles ; and I like him immensely. Next 
to your own, he has the most beautiful voice of any man I 
ever met. It sends little shivers down my spine the way 
some music does." On the next occasion when I went to the 
post-office store, my husband asked me on my return, "Well, 
did you see 'Shivers' this time?" 

Erom that day until Mr. Knowles passed over the border, 
Robert spoke of him to me as "Shivers/' He and Mr. 
Knowles were very good friends ; and he was sincerely grieved 
when, just two months before God's sudden call came to him, 
Mr. Knowles' obsequies took place with all Masonic rites in 
Short Beach. 

Mrs. Davies- Jones and I sent our two harps to the little 
Short Beach Chapel, and played simple old sacred hymns 
while the funeral cortege passed in and out. 

One summer evening I walked down the street and saw Mr. 
Knowles sitting quite apart from others, looking up at the 
starry skies. Stopping to chat a moment, he said, "I have 
been wondering about those stars. I am sure some of them 
are just as important worlds as this earth. And I have been 
wondering if we will ever know about it all in any life. I 
wish I might have studied astronomy." No doubt this de- 
sire of his for greater knowledge is being gratified now. 

Mr. Knowles had a brother, called Captain Knowles be- 
cause he owned a boat which used to convey people about 
the Sound. That was in the days before trolley cars or 
automobiles were with us, and visitors to the shore resorts 



164 THE WORLDS AND I 

relied upon boats for their pleasures and their sight-seeing 1 . 

Captain Knowles was a different type of man from his 
brother; and had never given much time to reading, and I 
think he never meditated about the stars. While "Shivers'' 
was very fond of poetry and always followed my writings 
with interest, the Captain simply knew that I was a literary 
woman, and let it go at that. 

It was not until after his death that a droll little story was 
told me by some New York people who had gone down to 
pass a week-end at Short Beach in the early days. They 
engaged the Captain to take them out in his boat; and he 
showed them all the places of interest. He called their at- 
tention to new cottages which had been erected, and he pointed 
out the picturesque home of Bishop Goodsell, perched very 
high on the rocks. Then, with a wave of the hand toward 
the Bungalow, he said, "And there lives one of the most 
notorious women in America. She has come here to make 
her home." 

The delicate shade of difference between the words 
"famous" and "notorious" the Captain ignored. But I am 
quite sure he would have given any one who purposely ap- 
plied an unpleasant epithet to me a blow of his big fist. 

In our early summers at Short-Beach-on-the-Sound swim- 
ming was almost an obsession with many of us. We used 
to go in the water twice a day, sometimes three times ; and we 
were all prouder of our achievements in the brine than out of 
it, I fear. I know at that time a new stroke in swimming, or 
a new high dive, gave me more of a thrill than a new style of 
verse, great as my love and devotion to the Muses was and 
ever has been. 

One day, as I was swimming across "Little Bay," whose 
waters caressed the rocks on which our dear Bungalow was 
built, I met a lovely sea nymph. Her wonderful stroke was 
only second to her physical beauty. She was a mere child, 
scarcely thirteen years old, but a little pocket Venus in form, 
and with a face of delicate loveliness. I learned her name 
as we paddled leisurely along to a rock, where we sat and 



LITTLE EFFORTS AT BROTHERHOOD 165 

rested and chatted. She was Rhoda Burnham, she said; 
from Kenwood, N. Y. I knew this meant that she was one 
of the descendants of the Oneida Community, that interesting 
organization which for a period of thirty years persisted in 
an attempt to demonstrate the value of eugenics, or thor- 
ough breeding, in the human family. When the Government 
of the United States lifted a protesting hand, and commanded 
this organization to disintegrate, many of its members came 
to Short-Beach-on-the-Sound and located there. (This place, 
and Wallingford, Conn., had been, in fact, popular with the 
Oneidans, as resorts, previous to the disbanding of the Com- 
munity.) My husband and I had made the acquaintance of 
several of these families, and we had found them particularly 
interesting because of their simple, kindly, trustful and un- 
selfish traits; and we had observed with keen interest how 
above the average, in physical and mental qualities, were the 
young people who had been born in the Community. 

The Oneida Community was based on the idea of unselfish- 
ness, and carried its ideals to the utmost extreme. The little 
handful of people who first founded the cult believed their 
leader, Mr. Noyes, had received a revelation; and that they 
were justified in cutting loose from all established laws and 
rules regarding marriage and the relation of the sexes and 
the accumulation of property. 

No woman was to bear a child unless she desired mother- 
hood; and she was then to select the father for her child. 
But before she was allowed to become a mother a committee 
of twelve wise men investigated the mental, moral and phys- 
ical conditions of the two contracting parties, and of their 
ancestors. If any cause was found which seemed to menace 
the desired offspring, the parties were expected to abandon 
their idea for the good of the world. Personal feelings and 
affections were to be sacrificed on the altar of Universal Love. 
Had the Oneida Community stopped there they might have 
carried on their purpose to a higher goal of realization; but 
unfortunately they demanded of their adherents a still greater 
proof of unselfishness. If the man and woman wanting off- 
spring were found to be unsuitable parents by the Com- 



166 THE WORLDS AND I 

mittee, each was expected to accept a mate chosen by that 
Committee, as better suited to produce wholesome children. 
Evidence of romantic attractions between two people was cause 
for criticism and reproof; and they were at once separated 
and sent to outside resorts, to overcome what was deemed 
selfishness. One of the sweetest and most admirable 
women I ever knew talked with me regarding this law of the 
Community and told me she had been one of its victims. 
She had entered the Community when only three years old, 
her parents being among Mr. Noyes' first converts. She had 
been happy and her life, while one of continual work, was 
bright and sunny, until at sixteen she found herself ro- 
mantically stirred by the presence of one of the young men 
of the Community. The Committee found him unsuitable 
for her as a mate, so they were separated. She was sent to 
Wallingford and he remained at Oneida. They believed her, 
however, to be a desirable mother, and selected for her the 
man they deemed best for the father of her child. To refuse 
the mandates of the Committee would have been insurrection; 
so with love in her heart for another man she bore the child 
of the one chosen by the "Wise Men." Of course, women 
are doing these things in fashionable society every day — 
smothering their affections and giving themselves to men they 
do not love, and for the ignoble motives of money or position ; 
so we cannot declare too loudly against the extreme altruism 
of the Oneidans in this matter, for they at least believed they 
had a high ideal, while the fashionable father and mother 
who force their daughter into an unholy alliance know they 
have only followed the most material impulses. The ex- 
pectant mother in the Oneida Community was treated like 
a holy being, and surrounded with every care and protection ; 
and as soon as her child was born it was given into the care 
of those who were particularly endowed by nature to rear it 
on the most scientific lines. Children, like property, belonged 
to the Community, not to individuals. 

The children born during the thirty years of the existence 
of the Community were just coming into adolescence when 
the United States Government commanded the dissolution 



LITTLE EFFORTS AT BROTHERHOOD 167 

of the organization. Where it was possible, the fathers mar- 
ried the mothers of their children ; but naturally this was not 
always expedient. Mr. Noyes, for instance, had been re- 
garded by many of the women of the Community as a divine 
being, and to mother his children seemed to them a sacred 
privilege. Mr. Noyes could not espouse all the mothers of 
his children; and there were other popular men equally em- 
barrassed. 

One of my most valued friends became the wife of the 
father of her son; and she afterward bore him a daughter, 
born in wedlock. The son was at the time of which I write 
a youth of exceptional intellect and talent; and he is to-day 
(twenty- two years later) one of America's most gifted men 
in the world of artistic expression. The boys and girls born 
in the Oneida Community were distinctly above the average 
of those born in conventional circles where laws of State and 
Church prevail but where high ideals of the sacredness of 
the sexual relation and of motherhood do not prevail as a 
rule. 

Therefore, it will be understood how I felt a peculiar 
interest in the pretty sea nymph who told me her name was 
Rhoda Burnham, and that she was born in Kenwood, N. Y. 

Rhoda grew into lovely young womanhood, spending every 
summer in Short Beach and her winters in Kenwood. One 
day Rhoda married well and happily. Then she bore a daugh- 
ter. I was in Europe when this child came; and in Europe 
I received a letter from Rhoda' s aunt, telling me Rhoda was 
writing poems, and asking me if I would read them if sent. 
I knew Rhoda was fond of poetry and literature of all 
kinds; but I had never thought of her as creative. When I 
opened her MSS. I anticipated the usual girlish amateurish 
work so often laid before me. The very first lines attracted 
my attention, so distinctly were they creations of a genuine 
poet — a genius. 

A letter accompanied the verses saying two of the poems 
had been accepted by the Atlantic Monthly. Later work of 
Rhoda Burnham Dunn (Rhoda Hero Dunn was her pen 
name) appeared in the Century, Harper's and Scribner's. 



168 THE WORLDS AND I 

It is the only instance where I ever knew a young poet to 
begin at the top. There was an almost Shakespearean qual- 
ity to her verse. It seemed to have suddenly developed after 
her experience of motherhood; but, unfortunately, a serious 
heart malady also developed, and for years the young wife 
and mother was an invalid and is only now coming back to 
health. She is not yet allowed to use her pen, even to write 
her friends. 

One day, after she had published some of her most brilliant 
verses in the magazines, Rhoda Hero Dunn was calling while 
Theodosia Garrison visited me ; and an enterprising man with 
a camera captured the three of us and posed us on the Bunga- 
low sea wall. My own portrait was the only one of the 
group which did the original justice; both of my fair poet 
friends were libeled by the camera save as the pose was artis- 
tic and the setting excellent. 

On that same wall one summer day, two other poets of 
national reputation sat while it was my good fortune to be 
their hostess and my bad fortune not to have them photo- 
graphed. They were Zona Gale and Ridgeley Torrence — both 
in the early glory of first youth, and both fair to behold. I 
remember telling them as they sat on the wall, outlined 
against a scene of exquisite beauty, that I was sure ancient 
Greece never brought into juxtaposition a more wonderful 
combination of mental, physical and nature attractions than 
my eyes beheld at that moment. 

Zona Gale had first come to my notice on one of my visits 
to my old Wisconsin home. I was at the house of Judge 
Braley, in Madison, and Mrs. Braley told me a young girl 
wished to meet me. A pretty creature in the short skirts of 
early youth, and with her hair hanging in braids down her 
back, came in and modestly asked me if I would look at some 
of her writings and tell her if she had talent. 

This was Zona Gale, whose verse and prose has since 
given her a wide fame, and whose earnest work for Equal 
Rights has made her beloved by all the suffrage organizations. 

Ridgeley Torrence, too, has become a name dignified by 
great ideals carved in enduring lines of high poetic expres- 



LITTLE EFFORTS AT BROTHERHOOD 169 

sion, both in lyric and dramatic form. And his work is but 
begun. 

Elsa Barker is another American poet who has graced 
and vitalized the Bungalow with her presence. 

At the time of her visit, she had written only one prose 
work, 'The Son of Mary Bethel. ,, It was a striking work, 
yet her poetry was to me her real inspiration. 

"The Frozen Grail," dedicated to Peary and his band, is 
an epic of august beauty. It has the distinction of being the 
only poem that went to the Pole. 

Another of her poems ranks with the great sonnets of the 
world. It is entitled "When I Am Dead," and its fourteen 
lines are just so many splendid poetical solitaires. 

Elsa Barker went to live in Paris shortly after she visited 
us; and later, when we were in London, she came there to 
make her home. She spoke to me of a strange experience 
through which she was passing, and vaguely hinted that it 
was of a psychic nature. Before we left Europe I had gath- 
ered from her that she was receiving messages from some 
disembodied intelligence, and that the result would be given 
to the world in time. She seemed profoundly impressed by 
her experience. When her "Letters of a Living Dead Man" 
were published and made so pronounced a sensation, I was 
able to understand why she was impressed. That, and its 
sister volume, "War Letters of a Living Dead Man," have 
stirred the intellectual world and made the name of Elsa 
Barker known everywhere. They are among the notable 
books of the century. Yet still it is the poetry of Elsa 
Barker which endears her to me — her poetry and her worth- 
while character. 

To be a gifted poet is a glory; to be a worth-while woman 
is a greater glory. 



CHAPTER XII 
Interesting People Met in New York 

AMONG the interesting people who came into my life 
during the nineteen years we resided in New York, 
Anne Reeve Aldrich stands forth in my memory as one of 
the most unique types, and one most difficult to classify. Miss 
Aldrich sent me a note, enclosing some very striking lines 
she had written, and asking if she might call. Her dramatic, 
melancholy, yet delicate poems had already attracted my at- 
tention, and I hastened to set an hour for her call. 

The tragic muse who dominated the young woman's mind 
was not expressed in her personality. The girl was, instead, 
bubbling with mirth and the joy of life in the early twenties. 
She had a slight lisp in speaking, which was fascinating; 
and her sense of humor was her most prominent peculiarity. 
She made sport of her own tendency to write of death and 
despair, and laughed over the impression her verses gave of a 
broken heart. She confessed to having had many transient 
love affairs, and to using them as the shoots on which she 
grafted all kinds of strange, exotic poetical fancies. 

Miss Aldrich was well born and of the best American 
stock. She was worshiped by her sweet and gentle mother, 
who was, if memory serves me right, the widow of a clergy- 
man. 

After a year or two of acquaintance with this young poet, 
I was impressed with her lack of real interest in life; she 
still laughed and bubbled, but she seemed to tire easily of 
everything which girls of her age find amusing or entertain- 
ing. From her spoken words I gained no hint of this; but 
from her manner and her aura it breathed forth. Her poems 
grew more and more exquisite, and she attracted the atten- 
tion of the best literary minds. But this did not seem to give 

170 



INTERESTING PEOPLE 171 

her real pleasure. It was not very long before the rumor 
reached me, on my return to town after a summer's absence, 
that Miss Aldrich was ill. Her sickness was as difficult to 
define as her mentality had been. She had no malady, so the 
physicians said, but she felt no interest in anything, and 
seemed in a state bordering on melancholia. I fancied it to 
be a slow fever, which would wear itself away in time. But 
one night the young poet, not yet five and twenty, fair to 
look upon, and endowed with rare talents, asked for writing 
materials, and shortly handed back to the suffering mother 
the MS. of the beautiful poem : 

"I shall go out when the dawn comes in : 
Would it might leave one ray with me ; 

It is so dark between two worlds 
How is a soul to see?" 

It is one of the most exquisite lyrics in the language on 
the subject of death. Miss Aldrich died at dawn the fol- 
lowing day — died peacefully and sweetly, in the dawn of 
womanhood and the dawn of day, and in the dawn of her 
splendid poetical powers. 

Another young poet and later editor of a successful maga- 
zine (and, like Miss Aldrich, sired by a clergyman) became 
a part of my little social circle a few years later. This was 
Arthur Grissom, a fair youth with a diamond mind, and a 
heart of gold. He was popular alike with men and women, 
and both my husband and I prized his friendship highly. He 
possessed a dainty lyrical gift, which would have grown into 
something greater had he not merged his powers in filling 
with much success the somewhat difficult position of first 
editor of the Smart Set. One day we heard with surprise 
and interest the news of the sudden and romantic marriage 
of Arthur Grissom. The father of his bride had large wealth, 
and objected to the marriage, but seemed to accept his tal- 
ented and noble young son-in-law after a time. I hastened 
to call on the bride and invite the young couple to my sea- 
shore Paradise. Afterward we visited them in their subur- 
ban home. So complete seemed their happiness, and so en- 



172 THE WORLDS AND I 

thusiastic was the wife regarding her husband's ability to 
provide for her, in spite of her father's predictions to the 
contrary, that our surprise may be imagined when a few 
years later (possibly two) we heard that Mr. Grissom was 
being sued for divorce on the grounds of failure to support 
his wife. 

We heard, too, that Mr. Grissom had entered a counter 
suit against the father-in-law, asking damages for alienating 
the affections of his wife. I wrote a letter of sympathy 
to Mr. Grissom, in which I said: "This is the first time 
either my husband or I have felt any interest in a man 
or woman who could ask for financial benefits to soften the 
wounds inflicted by unfaithful love. But we well know 
how you gave up your important position in New York to 
go West to satisfy a whim of your wife. We know how 
you catered to her many idiosyncrasies; and we heard from 
her own lips, not once, but many times, how well you pro- 
vided for her. Therefore, we feel you are justified in de- 
manding damages for your broken business affairs, and you 
do right to combat a suit which places you in an ignoble and 
undeserved position in the eyes of the world." 

My letter pleased Mr. Grissom, naturally; and one day 
shortly thereafter I met him on the street and he turned and 
walked with me saying how he wished his attorney might 
hear me state what I had expressed to him in the letter. "If 
you could let him put down your statements as a part of my 
defense," Mr. Grissom said, "it would have weight when the 
case comes to trial in the West." I readily agreed to this, 
and consented to go with Mr. Grissom to his attorney's 
office, a day or two later. I had supposed there would be 
present on that occasion the attorney, a stenographer, Mr. 
Grissom and myself. What was my consternation on arriv- 
ing at the office, to find the lawyer of the father-in-law, a 
prosecuting attorney, and a half dozen stenographers, re- 
porters and others, in all something like fifteen or twenty 
individuals. Instead of sitting down quietly and talking to 
Mr. Grissom's attorney, I was called to the stand as if it were 
a regular court room, and put under a fiery fusillade from the 



INTERESTING PEOPLE 173 

enemy. I was amazed, frightened and angry. The first 
question the prosecuting attorney flung at me was: 

"I believe your name was first heard in public as the au- 
thor of some very erotic poems called Toems of Passion/ 
Is that truer^ 

"No," I answered, "it is not true. Intelligent people had 
heard of my name a number of years before that book was 
published." 

There was a snicker in the court room, and the attorney 
proceeded to change his method of attack. 

"You are, I believe," he said, "a contributor to a Yellow 
Journal in this city, are you not?" 

"I have the privilege of contributing some ideas of more 
or less value to the world to a large educational daily," was 
my reply. 

"Well/' continued my persecutor, "you know you are 
associating your name with Yellow Journalism, do you not? 
And you know the meaning of the words 'Yellow Journal- 
ism r 

"Yes, sir; I think I do," I replied. 

"Well, what is it?" 

"It means, according to my belief," I replied, "a news- 
paper which glows with the color of sunshine and throws 
light into dark places; I would advise you to read it per- 
sistently." 

The snicker in the court room grew to a loud laugh. Order 
was demanded. 

Again mine enemy changed his tactics. 

"I believe you knew Mr. Arthur Grissom intimately, and 
for a long time," he said. I assented. 

"You knew him as a husband of the lady now suing for 
divorce; and you considered him a good husband?" 

Again I replied in the affirmative. 

"Well, how was he a good husband?" was the next query. 

I replied that he was faithful, kind, loving, and, according 
to his wife's words to me, a good provider. 

"Then you consider him the very best husband you ever 
knew?" sneered the prosecutor. 



174 THE WORLDS AND I 

"No, sir," I replied. "If I did, I would be here in the 
position of a co-respondent instead of a witness." 

The court room became so noisy with laughter that the 
case was dismissed. I was blazing with anger at Mr. Gris- 
som and every one else, feeling I had been trapped into an 
unpleasant situation. However, the result of this experi- 
ence was so satisfactory to Mr. Grissom that I was pacified. 
Curiously enough, it seemed that the lawyer employed by 
the father-in-law, to riddle me with annoying questions, was in 
his heart deeply in sympathy with Mr. Grissom. He tele- 
graphed the purport of the "session" West, and the case was 
settled out of court in favor of Mr. Grissom. 

Arthur Grissom did not live many years after that. But 
it is a satisfaction to me to know, what only his best friends 
knew, that his heart was wholly healed of the wounds in- 
flicted by a fickle woman, and that he died loving another 
woman with the deep, fervent love of his ripe manhood. 
Four months previous to his death, when he was in seeming 
perfect health, he gave a very brilliant dinner at "Old Mar- 
tin's" in honor of my husband and myself. There were to 
be fourteen covers; at the last moment one guest wired his 
inability to arrive on time. So we sat down, thirteen at 
table. Mr. Grissom was last to be seated ; and there was the 
usual jesting on the subject. We called him a very healthy- 
looking ghost. 

Of course, it was a mere coincidence that he died in so 
brief a time afterward. It was the only occasion on which 
I ever sat thirteen at table; and if circumstances made it 
necessary for me to be again of that number I should insist 
on seating myself last. 

Early in the winter of 1892 I received a book of verse and 
a request for my criticism from a young lad who later became 
one of our most loyal friends. Although this youngster had 
lived much with nature and was in love with the wilds, he 
had known a good deal of city life without much guidance. 
He was conscious of the pitfalls for youth, however, and 
seemed glad that he had "escaped with his self-respect," as 
he put it. 



INTERESTING PEOPLE 175 

In one of his early letters, speaking of his ideals, he said : 
"It has been a dream of my life since I can remember, that 
at marriage the husband should dower his wife with the same 
purity of heart — the same virtue — that he expects of her. 
I think that their love-life should be the holiest of all human 
relations; that it is better to worship a wife with reason than 
a Creator through faith alone; and that a true husband can 
never be chivalrous enough to a true wife." 

This was so interesting that I turned to his verses with 
pleasurable anticipations, surprised to find them most erotic, 
yet, withal, full of real power and lyric charm. 

I wrote to the young poet and asked him to call on one of 
my Sunday afternoons, which he did. And such a shock of 
spun gold hair — such red blood in boyish cheeks — such a 
virile young child of the woods and fields was never seen, I 
am sure, save in Ralcy Husted Bell at that early period of 
his life. 

From that time on his friendship has endured, growing 
stronger with time, as have, indeed, all my worth-while 
friendships through life. 

Ralcy Husted Bell is a man of many talents. Perhaps he 
has scattered his forces too widely; and yet that very scat- 
tering may have given him his breadth of vision and his 
deeper enjoyment of life. 

Mr. Bell graduated as a physician, having a competence. 
He practiced medicine only briefly, meanwhile establishing a 
successful magazine; then he traveled extensively, adding to 
his collection, and finally settled down in Paris to study art. 

His first book of value was 'The Worth of Words"; but 
he has published at least two books of excellent verse besides. 
Then followed "The Changing Values of English Speech/ ' 
"The Religion of Beauty," "Words of the Wood," "Taor- 
mina," "Art-Talks with Ranger," "The Philosophy of Paint- 
ing, " etc. He has also done much scientific work of value. 

Remaining a bachelor, Dr. Bell did not put his early ideals 
of marriage to the test. 

Lovely Edith Thomas, Madeline Bridges, Mary Ainge 
De Vere, John Ernest McCann, Bart Kennedy, all gave me 



176 THE WORLDS AND I 

their friendship in those early days. Since then John Ernest 
McCann has passed on to other worlds, and those remain- 
ing have steadily added to their laurels. Bart Kennedy was 
just beginning his career as a fiery and untamed socialist, 
who wrote excellent epigrammatic prose — prose that was 
really the free verse of to-day. He sent me some specimens 
through a friend, and I wrote him a note of appreciation. I 
asked him to call on a Sunday, and he came with contempt 
and distaste in his face and mien for my little social circle 
of well-dressed people of talent. He was a handsome youth, 
clear cut of feature and gaunt of form, and he was burning 
to demolish society, to dynamite all conventions, and to di- 
vide the millions of the idle rich among the world's needy 
poor. He left my small salon scowling his disapproval of 
my manner of life. But he sent me other MSS. which were 
also praiseworthy, and asked if he might call and receive from 
me some advice about his work. 

I had gone to Short-Beach-on-the-Sound and wrote him he 
could some day run down there. He happened to choose a 
day when I was preparing to give my annual costume ball. 
He found me with a bevy of beautiful girls and attendant 
young men waxing the floor ready for the dancing. I had 
no moment to give him and his MSS. naturally. I turned 
him over to my bevy of girls to entertain, after providing 
him with a bathing suit and enjoying the exhibition he gave 
of his aquatic prowess. The day wore into evening and the 
guests began to arrive, and the dancing was in full swing 
when Mr. Kennedy appeared to me with a face of fury. He 
reviled me as a frivolous and unworthy woman of genius 
who was wasting my time and gifts in ignoble social amuse- 
ments; and after a few moments of conversation in this 
vein, which I decidedly resented, Mr. Kennedy flew down 
the pathway and walked seven miles to catch a night train 
to New York. 

I never saw him again until the Spring of 191 2, in London. 
We met at a large banquet where Mr. Kennedy was one of the 
speakers. He had gained honors and avoidupois in the in- 
tervening years, and he was far more lenient toward the 



INTERESTING PEOPLE 177 

world and its social conventions. We met smiling friends, 
who had parted scowling foes; and we enjoyed a brief time 
of amusing reminiscence. Mr. Kennedy had a large audience 
in the old world and was a recognized man of talent. Suc- 
cess had made him more tolerant toward life and people, as 
is frequently the case with the youthful socialists and social 
dissenters. 

Edgar Fawcett was in his man's prime when I met him in 
the early nineties. I treasure a letter full of wit which he 
wrote me in reply to my request for a book and picture to 
sell at a Charity Kermiss; and which ends with some words 
of praise for my work — words which at that time filled me 
with gratitude and pleasure. Though I never knew him well, 
I sincerely grieved over his death, which seemed to silence a 
poetical voice of power. The one thing I missed in Edgar 
Fawcett as a poet was a lack of faith in any life after this. 
That always limits a poet's power, for poets are given their 
voices to be heralds of greater lives beyond. Perhaps Mr. 
Fawcett had to be called onward to gain new knowledge 
before singing further songs. Perhaps he will come back 
again and finish his singing in a higher strain. 

Walter Malone was another of my young poet friends in 
those early days. He was a Southern boy, who had studied 
to become a lawyer, but was so filled with poetic fervor and 
longing that he left a promising outlook as an attorney 
in his native State, Tennessee, to come to New York 
and carve his name on Fame's monument. He passed 
through various vicissitudes, and after two or three years 
became exceedingly discouraged and despondent, and went 
back to his Southern home and resumed the practice of law. 
Before a decade had passed Judge Walter Malone was a name 
known and respected in the legal world. But he had not 
forgotten his early love. Poetry still lured him: and all his 
leisure moments, which other young lawyers devote to pleas- 
ure or social distractions, Judge Malone devoted to the 
Muses. 

As a result one of his poems has become a classic. It is 
entitled, "Opportunity," and is a reply to the very pessimistic 



178 THE WORLDS AND I 

and wholly untrue poem (although a literary gem) of In- 
galls', written on that subject. 

Here is Walter Malone's "Opportunity" : 

"They do me wrong who say I come no more 
When once I knock and fail to find you in ; 

For every day I stand outside your door 
And bid you wake, and rise and fight and win. 

"Wail not for precious chances passed away, 

Weep not for golden ages on the wane! 
Each night I burn the records of the day — 

At sunrise every soul is born again. 

"Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped, 
To vanished joys be deaf and blind and dumbjj 

My judgments seal the dead past with its dead, 
But never bind a moment yet to come. 

"Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep ; 

I lend my arm to all who say, T can.' 
No shame-faced outcast ever sank so deep, 

But yet might rise and be again a man !" 



This poem has been, and will be, an inspiration to thou- 
sands of discouraged men and women. It is widely quoted, 
frequently without the author's name, as is often the fate of 
universally appreciated verse. 

The work to which Judge Malone gave ten years of his 
life was an ambitious epic, based on the life of Ponce de 
Leon. While abounding in brilliant lines and gems of lyric 
beauty, it will never endear him to his readers as has "Op- 
portunity." 

Judge Malone died suddenly of heart failure in the prime 
of life. He never married. His epic, he said, was his life 
love. Two years before his death, while arranging to pub- 
lish his epic, he came and spent a few hours with us at Short 
Beach. The boyish dreamer I had known years before had 
grown into a typical Judge — somewhat over weight, serious 
to gravity, and all intent on his forthcoming book. 



INTERESTING PEOPLE 179 

There was a melancholy about him which seemed in the 
light of his sudden death, so soon afterward, to have been 
something like a prevision of his near departure. 

His death seemed sad to us who loved him, yet perhaps 
it was a happier fate for him to go just after he had com- 
pleted his life work, instead of waiting to feel bitterly that 
this work was not properly appreciated. Such a spirit as 
his is now occupied with so many greater tasks that all he 
did here will seem to him a mere preparation. 

Marshall P. Wilder, the little dwarfed humorist, was also 
one of that old circle. Marshall's good heart, bright wit 
and scintillating mind all united to dominate his handicap 
of a deformed and dwarfed body. He was a living sermon 
to the pessimists. He made his way into homes and hearts, 
even among royalty ; and King Edward was a devoted friend 
to the little man at the time of his death. 

Marshall married a charming girl, and made a great suc- 
cess of his life. Both he and his wife died before middle 
life, but I believe there are two or three children left to bear 
his name. 



CHAPTER XIII 

Lunatics I Have Known 

P\OUBTLESS every man and woman who is in any 
■■^ capacity prominently before the public has peculiar 
experiences with people of disordered minds. But my own 
have been so varied and so continual that the story of my 
life would not be complete without a brief account of these 
amusing and often disturbing occurrences. 

I remember when I was first launched as a girl poet being 
told by my brother that he had read an article declaring all 
poets and all creative artists to be partially insane. The 
wholly sane brain did not create; only when the brain began 
to be overripe, and therefore diseased, did genius develop. 

This theory would perhaps explain the cause of my being 
pursued by the demented so frequently — like seeking like. 

A young woman of astonishing beauty, looking something 
as Lilian Russell looked at twenty-two, appeared one day at 
my seashore home. 

When I went in to learn what was the object of her call, 
she fell at my feet, kissed the hem of my garment and de- 
clared she had come to spend the remainder of her life with 
me. She could "iron beautifully/' she said, and do many 
other useful things. She had journeyed from Nebraska for 
this purpose. When assured I had no place for her she 
showed mingled grief and anger. I told her I would find 
her a room in a summer hotel nearby until she could return 
home. I sent for a physician, and he declared her mildly 
insane on this one topic, but not dangerous. She was pro- 
vided for at the hotel, but spent much time sitting on my 
lawn writing me long letters, wherein she declared herself 
disappointed that I had not lived up to my writings. A let- 
ter <:ame from a sister of hers in Nebraska, saying she had 

180 



LUNATICS I HAVE KNOWN 181 

just learned of Ellen's destination, and she hoped I would find 
her useful; that she was really an excellent girl with just 
one mania, that of living with me. I forwarded to the sister 
some of Ellen's letters, which had assumed a menacing tone, 
and begged her to send for her and place her under medtcal 
care. This she did, and for years I was snowed under with let- 
ters from Ellen, written from this Asylum for the Insane in 
Nebraska. Then she was sent home to her mother in Canada, 
cured, the mother wrote me, of all her manias save this one. 
She begged me to make no reply or else to write severely to 
Ellen if I heard from her again. I did receive several very 
wild letters, but now for a period of some five years have 
been relieved of this annoyance. 

While living at the Everett House in New York I received 
word one morning that a man wished to see me. I asked 
for his name; and a slip of paper was brought up with the 
name written thereon; and the bell boy said the gentleman 
wished to see me about "some plants." I was giving a lunchr 
eon (for Julie Opp Faversham, who had been recently mar- 
ried), and the idea occurred to me that probably the florist 
of the hotel was to make a floral decoration for the occasion. 
I went down into the parlor to meet my caller, and found a 
young man of perhaps thirty, very good looking and very 
well dressed. He came close to me and in an agitated voice 
asked: "Are you married?" 

In astonishment, I replied: "Certainly I am married; but 
what has that to do with the plants I was told you wished to 
speak about?" 

"No, no; the plans, the plans/' wailed the youth; "they 
said you weren't married." Seeing the man was mentally 
unbalanced, I suggested he would better take leave; and he 
speedily departed, never to appear on my horizon again. The 
following day a letter came to me from my seashore home, say- 
ing a strange-appearing young man had called there seeming 
much distressed at my absence, and had been given my ad- 
dress in New York. That was how he had learned my 
location. 

The next winter I received a series of well-written but 



182 THE WORLDS AND I 

decidedly unbalanced letters from St. Louis. The man said 
he was a physician, and that there had come to him a revela- 
tion of his true sphere in life, and of mine. We were meant 
for each other ; and not until we were united would the pur- 
poses of Destiny be realized. Not until the tenth letter came 
and announced the writer's determination to visit me in New 
York, did I take any notice of his letters farther than to read 
them to a few amused friends, who had nicknamed me "The 
Lunatics' Own." 

I sent this tenth letter to the Chief of Police in St. Louis 
and asked that its writer be looked after by medical and 
police authorities. The reply assured me that this was done ; and 
that the very intelligent and reputable physician was found 
to be suffering from acute mania. The doctor himself shortly 
afterward wrote and apologized for his former letters, say- 
ing he had attended a religious revival and studied Shake- 
speare and read some of my poems all at one time, and the 
combination had unsettled his reason. After the receipt of 
this sane and apologetic letter, another insane missive reached 
me, and then silence. 

The next season I spent in California; and during my ab- 
sence a pitiful half-witted youth presented himself one cold 
February morning at my door (our seashore house was kept 
open for my mother) and announced that he had come to 
"marry Ella." Assured that I was satisfactorily provided 
for in marriage, the caller wept wildly and said I had told 
him to come. Some four months after my return, one sum- 
mer morning he appeared again at my door. The friend 
who had seen him on his first call recognized him, and my 
husband went in and informed him that Mrs. Wilcox was 
not at home to him, and advised him to take his leave. This 
he did, only to return on five occasions. Once he came at 
midnight, and it necessitated a special conveyance to get him 
to the train. Previous to this I had sent him four dough- 
nuts and a dollar as he was leaving my door; but the con- 
veyance cost ten dollars, with the fee of the sheriff who ac- 
companied him to the train. 

A letter to the Chief of Police in Brooklyn caused the poor 



LUNATICS I HAVE KNOWN 183 

lunatic to be placed in an Asylum after his third visit. But 
a year later he was liberated and immediately set forth to 
Short Beach to "marry Ella." After the fifth visit the police 
were again called into counsel. This appeal finally settled 
the matter and I was relieved of his periodical pursuit. 
His history made one realize the need of eugenics in the 
land. His father had been insane; the youth was born in- 
sane ; yet he had been allowed to marry, and already possessed 
a wife while he made his romantic peregrinations to Granite 
Bay in pursuit of another consort. 

From Montreal, Canada, the next young Lothario hailed. 
He began his pursuit while we were living at the Everett 
House, and by the means of mysterious telegrams which 
woke us from sleep at the dead of night. One read: "Nei- 
ther of us can attain success alone. We must be together. 
I am coming." The name signed denoted Canadian French 
nativity. Finally a message came announcing his arrival 
the next day. My husband conceived the idea that some one 
had been posing under my name, and that the man was com- 
ing for some definite reason. Robert engaged two private 
detectives seven feet tall (or thereabouts) to hide behind a 
curtain in our apartment and told me to let the mysterious 
caller come up to my room and to engage him in conversa- 
tion until I learned what plot was back of the matter. The 
plan was carried out; but five minutes sufficed to show the 
poor fellow to be a pitiful lunatic who talked in the most 
incoherent manner. Not realizing the trouble I was making 
for myself and everybody else, I called to the detectives to 
come out; which they did, and to my amazement, clapped 
handcuffs on the poor wretch. He was scarcely five feet in 
height, and did not weigh over one hundred pounds; and 
the two giant detectives looked like Royal Danes worrying a 
small spaniel. Despite my protest they hauled the foolish 
lad off to the station house, and my husband and myself were 
compelled to appear the next day at Jefferson Street Court. 

The detectives were determined to send him to the Island 
for six months, declaring him a dangerous case. I saw no 
good in such a procedure, and I insisted that a promise be 



184 THE WORLDS AND I 

obtained from him that he would never trouble us again and 
that he be sent back to Montreal. This was finally done and 
out of the matter my husband made a very droll story. He 
said when called before the Judge the name of the prosecutor 
was demanded, and that he gave it as Robert Wilcox: then the 
Judge asked who defended the man, and that I immediately 
said, "Mrs. Robert Wilcox.*' The affair cost my husband a 
matter of fifty dollars. 

Another thing which amused my husband greatly was 
that I asked to see the prisoner a moment alone, and he found 
me reading his palm. I wanted again to prove how the palm 
verifies every mental peculiarity and I found this boy's hand 
indicated congenital insanity. 

A few years ago affectionate postal cards and letters came 
to me frequently signed simply "Albert." They were from 
a, town in the Middle West. Then came a very handsome 
fountain pen by post addressed by the same hand. No 
address was given and of course none of these missives re- 
ceived any reply. 

Then came in December 191 4 the following letter: 

Chicago, 111., 12, 17, 1 914. 

Dearest Love: While here on business of importance for a 
few days, and Christmas time is so near, my thoughts are of 
you. I will love you and think you are the best girl for me. 
It would be a pleasure to know your choice as a present you 
would like the best. 

This city has large places with fine jewelry in the line of wed- 
ding rings to choose from, if you can only make up your mind 
and come right away when you receive this letter. My address 

is (The address was given). When you arrive telephone to 

, and I will come and meet you at the depot. Will have on 

a dark blue suit, a hat of the same color. Be confident, take my 
photograph with you so you can recognize me. Inclosed you 
will find a cash check for railroad fare. I am ever your loving 

Albert. 

I sent the money order back to the Chicago Postmaster, 
saying it was from a man of disordered mind. He replied 
that it had been returned to the sender. I supposed that to 
be the end of this incident. But my lunatics are ever per- 



LUNATICS I HAVE KNOWN 185 

sistent. Another letter came from his Illinois town saying 
he felt he must come on and see me and talk matters over. 

I did not know whether this Illinois town possessed a 
Chief of Police or not but I risked sending a letter, enclosing 
Alberts last, and saying I must be relieved of his annoying 
attentions. 

The following letter from the Chief of Police tells the 
remainder of the story: — 

"Dear Madam: I beg to acknowledge your letter relative to 

the doings of Albert. Albert lives in a tent on Street and 

with his people ; and for a number of years has helped make both 
ends meet by angling for catfish in the mud of the Mississippi 
River near his home. Albert is a little fellow about four and 
a half feet tall; and weighs nearly one hundred pounds. His 
people have average intelligence and are very much disturbed by 
his actions and will try to curb him in any further attempt to 
annoy you. It is hardly necessary to tell you Albert has been 
feeble-minded for a number of years." 

Albert had sent me his picture on a postal card one time; 
at least he wrote on an accompanying slip of paper "From 
Your Valentine/' The picture looks better than the descrip- 
tion of the Chief of Police, however, and seems of question- 
able authenticity. 

Having no recollection of any period of my existence 
when I had not been before the public eye, it naturally never 
occurred to me to feel sensitive regarding that public's often 
exhibited curiosity concerning my private life. As a young 
girl, it served as an amusement, and the surprise which was 
shown now and then by people who met me, and saw no 
evidence of dark tragedies or brooding sorrow in my very 
healthful and happy appearance, was always entertaining. 

Even when I heard the tales afloat, which represented me 
as either suffering from blighted affections or as having 
been a heartless vampire who destroyed men at a glance, I 
was never greatly disturbed. I argued philosophically that as 
the benefits and pleasures of my work were greater than those 
of girls in private life, so must I expect to feel some thorns in 



186 THE WORLDS AND I 

my roses. Better the roses and thorns than empty hands. 

It was not until the great satisfying happiness cf my life 
came, from belonging to the man whose name I wore, that 
the thorns of my professional life began to pierce and wound. 
Until I was a wife, all that life gave me, which in any way 
was satisfactory or pleasing to my tastes and ambitions, came 
through my use of my talents. Only through my work had 
I been enabled to help others while blazing my way out of 
obscurity; therefore to complain of any annoyances resulting 
from my career which marred my happiness seemed as silly as 
ungrateful. 

When every blessing which I prized came through my 
husband, however, I found the curiosity of the public and its 
misrepresentations most difficult to bear with equanimity. It 
was hard to maintain the reputation for amiability which 
my husband had given me, when tales floated to me which 
represented my husband as having deserted a wife and 
children for me ; or reporting him as a brute and a drunkard 
from whom I was about to obtain a divorce. From time to 
time we would hear such stories ; and always I would burn with 
rage, while my husband would laugh and calm me down with 
his quiet, beautiful voice. 

On the twentieth anniversary of our marriage, we were 
living at the Everett House in New York ; and we had planned 
an evening at the theater with a little supper afterward. We 
were sitting at our special table alone, enjoying our dinner 
quietly, when a man and a woman came in and took the table 
directly behind me. The hotel was crowded that night, and 
the tables were in close proximity. The man sat with his 
back to mine; and the woman facing him. I had noticed 
them as they entered, but both were perfect strangers. There 
came a lull in the dining room — one of those occasions when 
every one seems to cease talking at once. And just as this 
lull occurred I heard the man whose back almost touched the 
back of my chair say in a very distinct and positive tone, 
"Oh, I know what I am talking about, she was divorced at 
least twice before she married Wilcox.'* Then the woman 
replied, "But I thought she was Ella Wheeler when she wrote 



LUNATICS I HAVE KNOWN 187 

her 'Poems of Passion'; and that she added the Wilcox by 
marriage." 

The man raised his voice and spoke with impatience: 

"I tell you I know she was divorced at least twice before 
she married Wilcox." 

My husband, who sat opposite me, had been giving some 
order to the waiter and did not hear this conversation. I 
have to this day regretted that I did not follow my first im- 
pulse, which was to rise and go quietly to the gossipers, 
announce myself as the object of their conversation, and deny 
the twice-uttered libel. 

But instead I leaned over and whispered the story to my 
husband and then told him I was going to speak to them. 

He at once objected. "It would be undignified," he said. 
"Instead, call the head waiter and have him ask them to 
change the topic of conversation, or their table, as Mrs. 
Wilcox is sitting here." 

The head waiter was called and the message delivered. 
There was a deep silence at the table behind me; and I rose 
and made a little visit to the tables of three parties of 
friends, telling them the incident and causing so much mirth 
and calling so much attention to the gossipers that they left 
the hotel with an unfinished dinner. 

But my twentieth anniversary had been clouded by this small 
yet irritating incident. 

It was only a few years ago when a friend (it was Kate 
Jordan, the author and my friend of many years) heard my 
name spoken in a manicure parlor. She had just come from 
my home and she naturally listened. A patron of the estab- 
lishment was regaling the young woman who polished her 
nails with a story of the faithless man who had deserted his 
family to elope with me. My friend walked over to the 
loquacious one and informed her of her error, and advised 
her to be careful what she repeated in the way of disagreeable 
gossip regarding people she did not know. The woman ex- 
pressed great indignation at being addressed by a stranger 
whose words she no doubt questioned. People of that type 



188 THE WORLDS AND I 

prefer to believe the unpleasant tales of men and women before 
the public. 

These are but two incidents of many similar cases which 
have occurred during my married life; and they have hurt far 
more keenly than any other kind of blow which has been in- 
flicted by the brutal hand of publicity. 

The rose of fame is only an artificial flower at best; and 
if my right to wear it is questioned by critics, or if mud is 
thrown upon it, it does not matter greatly. But the rose of 
a perfect love is a rare and exquisite thing ; and to have the 
rude hand of the public clutch at it, or attempt to tear it off 
one's breast, means real suffering. It is, indeed, a difficult 
thing for a woman to shine in a public career of any kind 
and not subject herself to innumerable keen pains in her love 
life. 

There is often such a lack of delicacy in one's very good 
friends when it comes to placing the celebrity before the 
woman at the expense of the pride of the man she loves. 

When my husband built our Bungalow, its artistic charm 
and unusual type of attractions caused much comment. The 
majority of our friends who saw it for the first time would 
express themselves something in this manner : 

"Well, it shows the poet's hand; it is what I would expect 
of a poet." "But," I would hasten to explain, "the poet had 
nothing whatever to do with it save to walk into it, all com- 
pleted. It is all the work of my husband; he planned and 
conceived the idea, and I never saw it until almost complete." 
Then they would smile and answer, "Oh, you are very gen- 
erous to give him all the credit, I am sure." 

By that time I would be blazing with anger and reply : 

"Why am I generous to tell the truth ? I feel it far more a 
matter of pride to be the wife of a man who cares enough 
about me to plan this lovely home than to plan it myself. 
Almost any woman can write; but only one woman could 
or did become the wife of Robert Wilcox." 

Yet the next relay of callers would bring a similar babble 
of banality from those who were so sure they saw "the poet's 
work in the house." 



LUNATICS I HAVE KNOWN 189 

These were, of course, the friends who had not been 
privileged to meet and know my husband intimately. Those 
of our inner circle who really knew him understood his rare 
qualities of mind, and brain, and heart. They knew him to 
be the possessor of unusual powers of discrimination in all 
matters of art ; and of the clear keen judgment of a connois- 
seur. He taught me to regard a home as a jewel to be set 
beautifully and to be kept choicely. Until my marriage I had 
not given the home much thought outside of keeping it clean 
and comfortable. The table, too, I had recognized merely as 
a place where one satisfied the appetite. My husband taught 
me to think of it as a thing of beauty and refinement where 
choice appointments, correct service, and the best moods of 
the family should lend charm and appetite to the delicately 
prepared food. After we began our travels he was delighted 
to see me more anxious to make a collection of rare table linen 
than of things for my own adornment. Yet as a girl (poet 
though I was) I could have dined on a bare table without 
thinking of it, because my mind was full of other things : and 
that idea of putting poetry into the material things of life 
had to be developed through my love for, and my desire to 
please, my husband. No praise ever bestowed upon me by 
the world ever thrilled me like his praise for my becoming a 
good housekeeper, and presiding over his table in a manner 
satisfying to his tastes. 

The management and care of his home was to me a delight; 
never a task or a worry ; and perhaps because of this attitude 
of mind we were blest most of our married life with excellent 
employees and helpers in our home — which we made their 
home as well as ours. 

One guest endeared himself to me by coming in from a 
walk one day and saying, "Do you know your husband is 
twice the poet you are? He has told me more interesting 
things about insects and plants and sea animals than I ever 
heard in all my life." 

I am quite sure were I a man, I would fly to the uttermost 
parts of the earth if I found myself becoming too interested 
in a woman with a "career." 



igo THE WORLDS AND I 

Much as I have appreciated my talents and enjoyed 
the benefits and pleasures resulting from them, I do 
not think I would want to be born again to earth life with 
talents which necessitate a career of any kind. Such a 
career is incompatible with the deeper delights of earth's 
most exquisite happiness, of a perfect love life. It rudely 
interferes with privacy, and intrudes on the most sacred 
moments. The world, like a lawless street urchin, presses its 
face against the window pane of a celebrated woman's bou- 
doir and either grins or makes grimaces — and then goes away 
and lies about what it has seen. 

Were I allowed to choose my next incarnation, I would 
ask to come back an accomplished, capable and agreeable com- 
panion of my beloved, and to be the mother of his sons and 
daughters as my only distinction in the eyes of the world. 

Sometimes my sense of humor overcame my anger when 
I heard or read absurd stories about my private life. The 
following, sent me by my irate English publishers, appeared 
after I had been on a visit to England : 

"Ella Wheeler acquired the name of Wilcox by marriage with 
a doctor of that name, and her married life, which is of the hap- 
piest, has many strange features. The couple live on a vast 
estate, several hours by rail from New York, each having a resi- 
dence and household of their own. If the poetess feels a real 
inclination to have the doctor for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, she 
sends him a formal invitation and he walks or drives over to his 
wife's house just like any other friend. Occasionally she repays 
the doctor's visit, and 'gives him a pleasant surprise,' but, as a 
rule, she accepts dinner invitations from him no oftener than 
from other friends. When the doctor has been to New York 
and brought from there some rare game or fish not obtainable at 
their place of residence, he makes a point of sharing it with his 
wife; otherwise the two menages are run on separate lines en- 
tirely, yet there never was a cross word between the poetess and 
the doctor, the latter always remaining the respectful admirer, 
counselor, and friend. 

"The 'Poetess of Passion' has successfully adopted several 
creeds of liberal tendencies, but the creed she has most faith in is 
herself. She once said to a friend : 'After my morning bath I 
don a kimono and enjoy myself before an immense cheval-glass 
for ten or more minutes, while I keep saying to myself: "This 



LUNATICS I HAVE KNOWN 191 

effigy of mine reflects the handsomest, the happiest and the most 
gifted woman in the world." And, whether it be true or not, I 
thoroughly believe in the pleasant fiction, and my day is felicitous 
throughout. If people would only stop making themselves miser- 
able over a nose that is too broad, or hands that are too red ; if 
they would drop envy and hatred, how much happier this world 
would be !'" 

Messrs. Gay and Hancock and Dr. (now Major) Frank 
Howard Humphries sent indignant corrections of these state- 
ments to the London editor, and wrote me letters of sympathy. 
But somehow the whole tale was so amusing it lost its sting 
for me. I tried to recall what I could have said to "a friend" 
which assumed such grotesque form in print, and decided it 
was a simple remark, stating my belief in the power of the 
spoken word to create that which we desire. 

In this sad world we owe a debt to whomsoever makes us 
laugh, so I owe one to the creator of the two fairy stories 
given above. 

On another occasion a friend of ours was sitting on the 
deck of a ship when she overheard an animated conversation 
between two ladies regarding the nationality of my husband. 

One woman declared that she positively knew Robert Wil- 
cox was a Hebrew, while the other as emphatically asserted 
that she knew he was American for many generations back. 
To this discussion my friend finally added her word, saying 
that she knew the Wilcox family to be Americans for genera- 
tions. Yet it is to be questioned if the first speaker was 
convinced. Somewhere in the far distant past my husband 
had Spanish and Welsh ancestors ; but there was in his appear- 
ance a strong resemblance to tfye very handsome Semitic race. 
Yet why should a woman who saw that resemblance, say with 
positiveness that she knew him to be a Hebrew ? 

Are women really as Lombroso has declared, naturally 
untruthful ? 

I once received a letter from a man who asked some sort 
of favor; just what has passed from memory. But this man 
reminded me of the days, "when," to quote his words, "we 
sat side by side in Chicago in a newspaper office." He said 



192 THE WORLDS AND I 

he well remembered my longing to be recognized and he was 
glad my dreams had been realized. 

I wrote to the man and assured him I had never sat in a 
newspaper office in Chicago or any other city, that I had 
never held any office position and that my writing had all been 
done at home. 

The man was quite indignant and wrote me a second letter 
trying to convince me that I had forgotten. I believe, how- 
ever, that I eventually proved to my correspondent that he 
had made a mistake in my identity. Yet, how many times 
must he have related that tale to people, confident that he 
was telling the truth! 

These experiences taught me to be very slow in believing 
anything which is told me regarding people who are in the 
public eye. The Know-It-Alls are a large family, but their 
testimony can not be taken, even on oath. 

One of the youngest members of the family of Know-It- 
Alls only recently informed a lady with whom she was talking 
that Ella Wheeler Wilcox was a man who used a woman's 
pen name. She knew it to be so. The lady had left my pres- 
ence only a few hours previously, but she found it difficult to 
convince Madame Know-It-All, nevertheless, of her mistake. 

The very youngest at the present writing, a man who has 
known me for some fifteen years, remarked to an earlier 
friend that he was told my first husband was a charming 
individual. 

It required considerable emphasis on the part of this older 
friend to convince the man that I had been married only once. 
He said he had been informed of my early marriage by some 
one who knew. 

Even after the relation of all these absurd and annoying 
tales, I am sure there are many individuals who will read these 
pages and still need this final and positive and easily proven 
statement of mine, to-wit: I was never the wife of any man 
but Robert M. Wilcox, and he never possessed any wife before 
me. Neither of us ever passed through the divorce court. 
And we lived in growing happiness together until the hour 
when God called him to a larger life on more wonderful planes. 



CHAPTER XIV 

A Royal Funeral 

tpACH year, from the time of our marriage, my husband 
■*-< planned some trip, which he thought would be a benefit 
and pleasure to me. 

We visited most of the States, and Canada, and all the im- 
portant seashore resorts. We went twice to Cuba and three 
winters to other West Indian islands. Always I said that I 
did not want to go to Europe until my husband had time 
to remain there with me several months. We hoped to go some 
time in the early summer and remain until late autumn. 

But destiny had other plans for us. 

From the hour of my marriage my husband had wished 
me to write only verse. He felt it was a waste of my energies 
and talents to attempt prose. I had begun a novel before our 
marriage, and I completed it the first year afterwards : and this 
convinced me I had no real ability in prose and that I should 
keep to my gift of poetry, and seek to develop it more fully. 

Then, after a decade of years, I came one day to a question 
of duty. I had made a habit of sending my mother a check 
each month, besides doing what I could toward the education 
of nieces. Each year in my visit back to the old home I 
saw with a catch in my heart how my parents were aging, 
and how difficult were the financial conditions. There were 
eleven in the family, and I realized that more money was 
needed to tide the family ship over the shoals. My father and 
brothers were never intended for farmers. My older brother 
(then in Dakota) should have been in editorial work and 
would have been but for his sacrifice to what he believed to 
be duty — the duty to stay at home and work at uncongenial 
labor, when given the chance to start in educational lines. 

193 



194 THE WORLDS AND I 

My other brother had distinct mechanical gifts. As a young 
lad, he had made with a jack-knife, out of sticks no larger 
than knitting needles, a little threshing machine, which, at- 
tached to a water wheel, also of his own construction, actually 
threshed out wheat. I remember how I thrilled at the sight 
of it in action, and what dreams I had of his future greatness. 
Those dreams might have been realized had he been placed 
in a school for mechanics. 

Meantime, while other neighbors, and Norwegian immi- 
grants, all about us, developed less valuable farms into profit- 
able returns, our farm steadily degenerated. I knew the fault 
lay at home. But I pitied rather than blamed our men. They 
were simply out of their orbit. 

At the hour of which I write, in the early nineties, there 
was a financial crisis in the land. I knew my husband was 
anxious and troubled. Through friends of mine in Milwaukee, 
who meant more than well, and believed they were making him 
a millionaire, he had been induced against his inner wish, and 
will, to invest in Gogebic mines the first year of our marriage. 
Had the money he used remained where formerly invested, 
it would have enabled him to retire with a competence in 
our early married life, as time proved. One of the most won- 
derful evidences to me of his beautiful nature, and his sense 
of delicacy, is the fact that never once did he by word or 
act make me feel that but for my friends he would have had 
no business worries. The one request he did make of me was, 
that I should not ask him to meet or entertain these friends who 
had, by over-persuasion, induced him against his inner feelings 
to invest in these mines — a request I granted at the cost of 
being regarded by them ever after as unfeeling and ungrateful 
for their former friendship. Just at this particular juncture, 
when grave financial disasters were imminent in the country 
and the needs of my relatives in the West seemed pressing, an 
offer was made me by a syndicate for a series of prose articles 
at very excellent rates of remuneration. I accepted the offer, 
thinking to write the series of fifteen articles and to let that, 
be the extent of my prose work. 

My husband was always wishing to do something to help 



A ROYAL FUNERAL 195 

my mother. I have before me a letter he wrote in 1890, while I 
was visiting my parents in Wisconsin, which says, "I wish 
you could do more to make your mother's life happier. I 
would gladly contribute anything toward such a plan. I think 
we should pay more attention to those who are dear to us 
and nearing the end of life than to those who have the long 
road ahead of them. You must think up something I can 
do for the good mother who brought you into the world where 
I could find you." Once he had insisted on sending my mother 
a substantial check, because he said I had often bestowed gifts 
upon his relatives, paid for out of my own purse. But I did 
not like to have my husband add my family to his own long 
list of dear ones who still looked to him for help. Therefore, 
I accepted the editor's offer to write the prose series; so 
successful were the articles that another series was requested, 
and for many years thereafter I seemed never able to extri- 
cate myself from an arrangement which permitted me to do 
so many goodly and gracious acts toward others; while the 
work I sent out in this way made its place with a large 
audience not approachable through the medium of poetry. 

It was because I had reached this large audience that the 
editor of the New York American sent a representative to 
me one cold winter night with a surprising proposal, just as 
my husband and I had finished dinner and were preparing 
to go to the theater. At dinner that evening Robert had re- 
marked that he was so driven by business matters that he 
scarcely knew where to turn. When the editor's card came 
to me I left him sipping his coffee while I went in to see my 
caller. Presently I spoke to my husband, saying, "Robert, 
please come in and inform this insistent man how wild and 
impossible is his suggestion. He has asked me to sail in three 
days for London, to write an American poet's impression of 
a royal funeral. Queen Victoria is dying, it seems ; they have 
their reporters and correspondents there, but they want me to 
go as their poet. I would as soon think of flying to Mars as of 
taking such a commission. Imagine me crossing the ocean 
for the first time, in mid-winter, and alone !" 

To my amazement, my husband said: "Go, and I will ac- 



196 THE WORLDS AND I 

company you. We need not be gone more than a month, and 
it is really a great thing for you to see." Neither of us ever 
understood afterward how he came to make such a sudden 
resolution; or how he was able to carry it out with all the 
business affairs he had demanding his attention. So instead 
of the leisurely voyage over summer seas we had always 
planned, we crossed in mid-winter on a hurried, hurly-burly 
trip, lasting six weeks. Yet it was truly a wonderful expe- 
rience and worth all the discomfort and suffering from climatic 
causes which followed. 

A place had been provided for me to witness the great 
funeral procession and I was escorted to it by one of the 
special correspondents. My husband, meanwhile, had taken 
under his wing a very charming girl we had met on the ship, 
who had crossed on a matter of business and was quite alone. 
Robert obtained seats for her and himself in the Park where 
the procession was to pass. As they set forth, he remarked that 
it was fortunate for me that such careful plans had been made 
for my comfort, as I was exceedingly timid in a large crowd; 
that it was the only situation where he had found me unable to 
keep my poise. The young woman replied that she did not 
mind crowds at all, but rather enjoyed them. 

As they entered the Park, searching for the number of their 
seats, the crowds increased rapidly, and they were very much 
jostled about. Two stretchers passed them with women who 
had already fainted. Ten minutes later, in what seemed the 
center of a solid human wall, my husband was touched on the 
shoulder by a London "bobby," who called out, "Look out 
there, sir, for your lidy !" Feeling a weight on his arm which he 
had supposed to be caused by the pushing crowd, my husband 
saw to his consternation that his companion was toppling over 
in a dead faint. It seemed ages before a stretcher was ob- 
tained, and ages before he was able to get his charge out 
into the open space, where they remained until the crowds dis- 
persed. And that was all my Robert saw of the royal 
funeral ! 

Meanwhile, I was seeing the entire procession from so 
close a proximity that I could have tossed a flower on the head 



A ROYAL FUNERAL 197 

of every king of earth. They were all there following the 
small coffin of the little great Queen with real sorrow in their 
hearts. It was a majestic sight; but the emptiness of earthly 
glory never impressed me so forcibly as when I saw that tiny 
casket being carried away to its final resting-place. The Queen 
was scarcely five feet in height, and it seemed almost like the 
casket of a child. Now as I sat there, almost within touch 
of all the crowned heads of Europe, I suddenly recalled a 
very curious incident which had occurred six weeks before 
the death of the Queen; before her illness, even. I had at- 
tended an afternoon musicale and tea in New York. Over 
our teacups, an acquaintance had told me of a droll little 
person in the city who looked like a country school-ma'am 
and who lived in a funny little apartment not so far from the 
locality where I dwelt that winter. This droll person pos- 
sessed a strange pack of weird-looking cards ; and for the sum 
of twenty-five cents she read your fortune. On my way home, 
I hied me to the card person, who, after receiving my remit- 
tance, laid out her cards and began to tell me the usual things 
one hears on such occasions. Then suddenly she said, "You 
are going very soon on a long sea voyage, are you not? ,, I 
laughed in derision, and replied in the negative. "But, you 
are," persisted the droll person, "and you are to be surrounded 
with royalty. Look at the Kings in your cards; every one 
in the pack, and Queens ! You are surely going to be among 
them and much honor will come to you and you will go very 
soon." I left the droll person who had made her absurd pre- 
dictions, feeling my time and my twenty-five cents had been 
wasted. Yet, here I was, in less than eight weeks afterward, 
recalling this incident, right in the center of the procession 
which contained all the Kings, Princes and royal personages 
of Europe. I could not explain it. Can you? It makes one 
think there must be truth in the idea that whatever is happen- 
ing now in the visible realms has first been rehearsed in the 
realm of the invisible. I relate this incident exactly as it 
occurred. When I came back, I tried to see the droll person 
to tell her of the truth of her predictions, but she was gone and 
I never knew what became of her. 



198 THE WORLDS AND I 

I cannot describe the mental agitation I endured on that 
whole trip. I had never in my life before taken a commission 
of any kind. I had never gone out anywhere to write de- 
scriptions of anything. All my writing had been from within, 
and done in my own time and way. From the hour I reached 
London I was depressed by the purple and black drapings of 
the whole city ; and the climate began to affect me unpleasantly. 
It did not seem to me that I could write one thing of value 
for the editor who had sent me out expecting great things. 

We arrived in London several days before the funeral 
ceremonies were to take place. It was not until the night 
before the event for which I came that one single atom of 
inspiration came to me. I had been driving about the gloomy 
city with my husband and I returned to Hotel Cecil feeling 
ill in body, paralyzed in mind, and despairing in heart. I sat 
in the reading room a few moments after dinner, idly glancing 
over an old copy of The Gentlewoman, one of the monthly 
English magazines. My eyes chanced on an item which had 
been printed some weeks previously in the column devoted 
to the doings of royalty. It said: "The Queen is taking a 
drive to-day." The sentence sent a thrill through me. The 
Queen was surely taking a drive — her last, on the next day. 
I was so tired and ill that I could not sit up longer, so retired 
to my room. It was heated by a gas grate, which proved to 
be out of order, so that only half of it lighted. I crept into 
bed between cold Irish linen sheets feeling very discouraged 
despite the thought which had entered my mind for a poem. 
I woke at three with the first four lines of the poem clearly 
defined. I felt an immense sense of relief. I knew I could 
write something the editor would like; something England 
would like. The representative of the editor was coming at 
nine o'clock in the morning expecting material from my pen. 
I went to sleep again, and awoke at seven. I wrapped the 
down comfortable about me, lighted the impotent little gas 
grate, and sitting on the floor, while my husband still slept, 
wrote the poem which opened the heart of all England to me. 

I had never been especially interested in the Queen, but 
as I wrote I began to feel very deeply her worth, and the 



A ROYAL FUNERAL 199 

pathos of her last ride; and I wept copiously. My husband 
woke suddenly and saw me sitting by the grate on the floor, 
weeping, and asked with concern what I was crying about. 
"I'm crying about the Queen's last ride," I said, "and because 
I am really writing something worth while. ,, 

When I read the verses to him, he was most enthusiastic. 
And when, at nine o'clock, the dreaded American man came to 
get my copy to cable it to New York, he found me, for the 
first time since my arrival in London, smiling. The poem was 
cabled to the New York American, and was cabled back 
again by them to an evening paper in London (I think it was 
the Mail) that same day, crossing the ocean twice in twelve 
hours. Its publication brought me quantities of letters from 
English people, and, later, words of appreciation from royalty 
itself. 

THE QUEEN'S LAST RIDE 

The Queen is taking a drive to-day; 
They have hung with purple the carriage-way, 
They have dressed with purple the royal track 
Where the Queen goes forth and never comes back. 

Let no man labor as she goes by 
On her last appearance to mortal eye ; 
With heads uncovered let all men wait 
For the Queen to pass, in her regal state. 

Army and Navy shall lead the way 

For that wonderful coach of the Queen's to-day ; 

Kings and Princes and Lords of the land 

Shall ride behind her, an humble band ; 

And over the city and over the world 

Shall the Flags of all Nations be half-mast-furled ; 

For the silent lady of royal birth 

Who is riding away from the Courts of earth; 

Riding away from the world's unrest 

To a mystical goal, on a secret quest. 

Though in royal splendor she drives through town, 
Her robes are simple, she wears no crown : 
And yet she wears one, for widowed no more, 
She is crowned with the love that has gone before; 



200 THE WORLDS AND I 

And crowned with the love she has left behind 
In the hidden depths of each mourner's mind. 

Bow low your heads — lift your hearts on high — 
The Queen in silence is driving by ! 

The poem was set to most effective music by a friend of 
King Edward, and a year from that day was sung at the 
memorial services, in the presence of all the royal family. 
This poem was the only thing I wrote while abroad that was 
of any value whatever, and this experience decided me that 
never again, under any circumstances, would I take a "com- 
mission" to go anywhere and write on any subject. 

From London we went to Holland, and just one week from 
the day of the Queen's funeral we were witnessing the bridal 
procession of the Queen of Holland, seeing her and her 
liege lord at very close range, and afterward I was shown 
through the Royal Palace. The most interesting part of that 
experience was the night we passed in a hotel in the forest near 
Scheveningen, a summer hotel which had been opened up 
just to accommodate the influx of guests on this festival oc- 
casion. The deep snows all about the hotel, the dark forest 
of trees, the candle-lighted rooms, the thick frost on the win- 
dow panes of our sleeping apartment, all lent the night a 
weird charm. It gave us a sensation of being a cave man 
and woman. Several years afterward we went back there 
in the summer season and spent ten days at this popular water- 
ing place. But that winter scene is the picture which stands 
forth distinctly in memory's picture gallery. 

My husband had been planning the long-dreamed-of saun- 
terings through Europe when we might at least spend a whole 
summer in the Old World. The dream seemed about to be re- 
alized when the unexpected happened, and again duty stepped 
in and took the place we had prepared for pleasure at life's 
board. My father, who had been for some years a child in mind, 
and a growing care in the old home which was filled with 
nephews and nieces of all ages, was suddenly released from 
his body at the age of ninety. My mother two years before 
this had suffered from an illness which the family attributed 



A ROYAL FUNERAL 201 

to a fall. I was sent for and even after she arose from her 
bed of sickness the word "stroke" was never mentioned by 
the family or the physician. I alone seemed to realize that 
my mother had experienced a slight stroke of paralysis which 
had produced that fall. 

My mother had been very eager always on my visits home to 
have me bring the latest novels and the latest books of poetry, 
and read aloud to her. I had provided myself with reading 
material on this visit, and after she was able to sit up and walk 
about the house I began reading the newest novel of the 
season. It was Hall Caine's "The Christian," I remember. 
Unforgettable is that hour when I first realized that she did 
not remember one word that I had read to her at the previous 
sitting. After that I only read the simplest short tales or 
anecdotes to her, and even then her mind would wander, 
and she would begin to talk of her family troubles in the 
midst of my reading. I knew then that the wonderful mind 
of my mother was only a cracked vessel. 

The last visit I made to the old home before my fathers 
death was one of indescribable anguish. He had no recol- 
lection of me, and when I tried to recall myself to his mind, 
he replied that he was not expected to recognize every stranger 
who came into the house. It is an intensely painful experience 
to see one's parents go back to the weakness of childhood with- 
out childhood's charms. Father had a mania for building fires, 
and it was necessary to watch him continually that he did 
not set himself and the house on fire. He was very irritable 
toward the children and in return they were irritable and dis- 
respectful toward him. (We must inspire respect before we 
receive it.) I had kept up my assumption of courage and 
cheer while at home, for the sake of the broken old mother, 
the worn and harassed sister-in-law, the unfortunate children 
reared in such an atmosphere, and the discouraged brother 
trying blindly to pull through such miserable conditions as 
best he could. That these conditions might all have been differ- 
ent through a different mental attitude in years past, did not 
make the situation seem any more hopeful. Most of us real- 
ize in the midst of our troubles that we might have done a 



202 THE WORLDS AND I 

great deal to avert them; but unless we are sustained by re- 
ligion and philosophy, this consciousness is more painful than 
otherwise. My brother had no bad habits, his heart was 
kind, and mine was very tender toward him. Both of my 
brothers had served their country in the Civil War and were 
never robust afterward. One went in as a mere lad. 

When I left home to meet my husband in Chicago, I ob- 
tained an end chair in the Pullman car from Madison, and, 
turning my back on the fortunately few occupants, let the long 
restrained flood of tears flow. Never in my life had there 
been a wilder downpour; and still weeping, I took my pencil 
and paper from my traveling bag and wrote the following 
verses : 

UNTO THE END 

I know not where to-morrow's path may wend, 
Nor what the future holds ; but this I know, 
Whichever way my feet are forced to go 
I shall be given courage to the end. 

Though God that awful gift of His may send, 
We call long life, where headstones in a row 
Hide all of happiness, yet be it so ; 
I shall be given courage to the end. 

If dark the deepening shadows be that blend 
With life's pale sunlight when the sun dips low, 
Though joy speeds by and sorrow's steps are slow 
I shall be given courage to the end. 

I do not question what the years portend — 
Or good or ill whatever winds may blow 
It is enough, enough for me to know 
I shall be given courage to the end. 

It was a very broken and weepy wife that crept into the 
strong arms of her husband that night in Chicago. I think 
the spirits who go from Purgatory to Paradise must feel 
something as I did. After he had sympathized and com- 
forted all he could, I remember that my husband became very 
stern and he said : "You shall do everything for your people 



A ROYAL FUNERAL 203 

that you can financially, and I will help you if you will let 
me; but I'm not going to allow you to visit there any more 
when it puts you into such an hysterical condition. They 
cannot possibly receive enough benefit by your presence to pay 
for the vitality you lose." 

Destiny arranged that I should not make another visit; 
only to go and bring my mother back East after my father's 
death ; and that was the duty which intervened and prevented 
our foreign wanderings for a period of seven years. 

It had been the dream of my mother's life, since I began 
to earn money, to live with me in some beautiful spot by the 
sea, free from all care and trouble. This dream was late in 
being realized ; and the habit of her mind was such that she 
failed to find the happiness and peace she had looked for with 
me ; failed because happiness and peace must first be sought for 
within. I brought my mother into a paradise of beauty and 
comfort and gave her every tender care, every comfort, every 
possible distraction. She heard nothing but words of cheer, 
praise and affection spoken in the house, yet the old habit of 
thinking of herself as a martyr to unkind fate had become a 
sort of an obsession with her and gave her a morbid pleasure. 
When I had visited the old home in the West, a great deal of 
my time was passed in listening to her relation of the annoy- 
ances to which she was subjected by having so many noisy 
children in the house. Yet, here in my beautiful, restful home, 
she frequently complained because of her loneliness in being 
deprived of the association of the children in the West. My 
mother had never liked cats, and she found much fault with us 
for allowing out beautiful Angora pets in our living room. 
This was my first experience since I started in my little artistic 
apartment in New York City (a period of some seven years) 
of hearing any complaint or fault-finding in my home. The 
early cry of my heart for a peace-filled, love-ordered home had 
been realized, both in New York, and in our beautiful bunga- 
low ; but now I was obliged to contend again with that element 
of discontent which had marred my girlhood life. 

The only one whose word or wish could influence my mother 
was my husband. She adored him, and when he reproved her 



204 THE WORLDS AND I 

for her fault-finding and her complaints, telling her how un- 
happy she made me, she would become as penitent as a little 
child, and "behave'' for days. Of course, I realized that it 
was not an easy matter to adjust a life at the age of 84 to en- 
tirely new conditions, and my husband urged me to be phil- 
osophical and not take my mother's complaints too seriously. 
He met the difficult problem which had come into our free 
and happy home life so wonderfully that if I had not loved 
and respected him to the limit of my powers before, I surely 
would have placed him on a pedestal then. I tried to be as calm 
as he was ; but my failure to make her contented and appre- 
ciative of our paradise was a severe blow to me. It was, 
however, a great lesson : a lesson on the importance of culti- 
vating a grateful and contented state of mind, no matter what 
our situation may be : in the darkest conditions to look for some 
ray of light and to be thankful for it, for the mind like the 
body grows into the attitudes we give it. If we sit with sunken 
chests over our tasks we eventually find it impossible to 
straighten up. So if we train our minds to critical and gloomy 
thoughts when we come into the sunlight we still see gloom. 
As my mother talked much of her early life in Vermont, 
I decided to take her to the scene of her childhood and youth- 
ful married life, and let her see the old places once again. 
Some years previously I had made a trip to Vermont with my 
husband, and knew there was a very good hotel at Bradford, 
the town of her birth. So we set forth and during the day's 
journey I more and more realized how near to childhood my 
mother had returned despite her still fine vocabulary and sharp 
wit in repartee. Many people who talked with Mother saw no 
evidence of her broken state. On this trip she seemed very 
much confused about our destination and mixed up her re- 
marks regarding Wisconsin and Vermont continually. Ar- 
rived at the hotel, I proceeded to look up my mother's old 
acquaintances and succeeded in finding fully a dozen whose 
ages varied from 75 to 90. A dinner was given for my 
mother at which ten of these old people appeared, and they 
made much of her, recalling incidents which she had quite 
forgotten. Yet she did not enjoy this event. She was greatly 



A ROYAL FUNERAL 205 

displeased with the signs of age in her old friends ; and said 
she would have preferred to remember them as they were 
in her early life. So this attempt to make her happy was 
also a failure. 

Even at this age, Mother was a strikingly handsome woman. 
She had kept her very beautiful form, her well poised head 
was still erect, and her hands would have served as models for 
a sculptor, despite the hard work they had done. Her large 
eyes, of a deep violet shade, were still clear and unusual in their 
beauty, and her very delicately chiseled features had not lost 
their outlines. On the train and at the hotel every one turned 
to look at her; and one stranger came and said to me, "The 
moment I saw your mother I remarked to myself, There is 
a true aristocrat; a grande dame who has always moved in 
high circles/ " 

I remembered my mother getting the dinner for fourteen 
Norwegian harvest men, and wondered if the lady would call 
that "high society." But in her appearance she certainly 
did represent the aristocratic and cultured side of life. 

When we returned to our home, she seemed a little more 
appreciative of its comforts, and now and then she would 
surprise me by an almost happy mood in which she expressed 
gratitude and pleasure. But I do not recollect that these 
moments ever continued through an entire day. Gradually she 
became less irritable, and with each month her adoration for 
Robert increased. 

After two years of a constant effort to entertain my mother, 
my husband told me I must find some one to assist me in this 
care of her, in order that he might enjoy the old-time days 
and weeks of my companionship, uninterrupted by thoughts 
of my duty toward her. Guardian angels provided me just 
at the crucial moment with the right helper for this difficult 
position. A letter came to me the very day I had told my 
husband that I would follow his wishes, from a young lady 
who had recently lost her mother. She wrote me that she 
was disappointed in her ambitions to follow an artistic career, 
and that she would like to find a position as a companion to an 
old lady. It was one of the many instances in my life where 



206 THE WORLDS AND I 

difficult problems were solved for me by invisible helpers. 
The young lady came to remain six months. She remained 
during my mother's life, a period of five years, and for several 
years thereafter. She was indeed a member of my house- 
hold until she was married from my home, leaving its beauti- 
ful environment for a home of her own, almost as beautiful. 
My mother was devoted to her, and very happy in her com- 
panionship. Disliking old people, she enjoyed and was de- 
lighted with this handsome young lady. 

The winter before my mother died she was in her usual 
good health and my husband took me to the West Indies 
for two months. We were sailing home in March, on a boat 
which had left two weeks sooner than we desired to leave, but 
we had decided to take it because its next passage would bring 
us back too late. Forty-eight hours before we reached Boston, 
a heavy snow-fall made us wish we were back in Jamaica. 
I went down into the dining salon for a cup of tea. The 
grounds in my cup looked interesting ; and I asked the stew- 
ardess laughingly if she could "read tea-cups." It would 
amuse me to have mine read. She replied that the cook 
was very wonderful in all those ways, and, of course, I 
sent for him immediately. He was a large and quite black 
man; and he assumed an air of vast importance as he took 
my cup to the light and examined it with rolling eyes. Then 
he came back to me and said solemnly, "Mistress, you'se agoin' 
home now, but not to stay. You'se agoin' to be there just a 
little while ; then you'se goin' on the longest sea trip you'se ever 
had. You won't get back again for about a year." I laughed 
and assured him he was mistaken. "I'm going home to stay 
a year before I budge out of my house again," I said. "I 
never go on voyages save in the winter." He insisted that he 
was right, however, and that I would find it so. 

And I did. 

When we landed in Boston, a long distance call informed 
us that my mother had had another stroke; she died in my 
arms 24 hours later. She died praying, "Oh, mother, come 
and take me home. I am so tired." In just six weeks, we left 
our house in the hands of a friend who was convalescing from 



A ROYAL FUNERAL 207 

illness, and we went to Europe to remain almost a year. 

I should like to know what quality it was in the mind of 
the black man that permitted him to see such an unexpected 
event ! It was fortunate for me that my husband could spare 
the time and take me on this long trip. My mother was 
within seven months of her ninetieth birthday when she 
died, and her going was not a great sorrow ; yet it was a great 
emotional ordeal to pass through. It was the fourth time 
I had been very closely associated with death. In my early 
girlhood I had been alone with the first wife of Judge Braley, 
of Madison, when she breathed her last. Both her husband 
and her mother had felt they could not witness it, but I re- 
mained. Again I had been the lonely watcher while the mother 
of my hostess in Milwaukee, at the home where I was aft- 
erward married, breathed her last. I had held my own dead 
baby in my arms; and now I had held my mother while she 
drew that last breath which never went forth again. It caused 
me to dig deep into the profound emotions of life, to live my 
whole existence from childhood to the present day over and 
over; to realize all my mistakes and shortcomings; to grieve 
newly over the thought that I had not succeeded in my 
effort to make my mother perfectly happy the last years of 
her life and to regret ever having been irritable to her. Yet 
there was great satisfaction in the thought that I had given 
her happiness through having so many of her ambitions for 
me realized; and in the remembrance of her often repeated 
assertion that I had never disappointed her, and never been 
unkind to her. To her continual faith in my abilities as a child 
and young girl, and her constant anxiety for my attainment 
of a larger life, and her willingness to sacrifice anything which 
would help me up and onward, I owed a debt which could 
never be paid in this incarnation. 

The distractions of travel, and the delightful wanderings 
which I enjoyed with my husband during the next seven 
months enabled me to rise out of the state of depression in 
which I departed from America, and to return to my paradise, 
enriched in mind and soothed in heart, to enjoy the most 
beautiful years which life had yet offered me. 



208 THE WORLDS AND I 

As a little child and afterward I remembered my mothers 
often expressed horror of burial and her wish that she might 
be "either put in the sea or burned" when she died. This 
idea used to shock all her neighbors ; and was therefore more 
frequently uttered by her. My mother's chief distraction in 
her monotonous life lay in shocking her neighbors by her 
unusual ideas. When she came to live with me she showed 
a distinct disappointment that this wish of hers shocked no 
one. Cremation had become an every-day event ; and she was 
told that her desire would, of course, be observed. In a talk 
with her one day on the subject I asked her if she wished to 
have her ashes sent to Wisconsin to be buried beside my 
father (with whom she had lived fifty-six years in marriage). 
She replied emphatically, "No, no, I want them to be scattered 
in the open air, and not put in the ground." So my mother's 
ashes were placed in an urn until rose-growing season and then, 
on a beautiful spring day, they were scattered about a rose 
bush. 



CHAPTER XV 
Happy Memories of Well Known People 

WE made five separate voyages to the West Indies ; and al- 
ways Port Antonio, Jamaica, was our central point of 
interest. We loved its rare beauty, the wonderful location of its 
Hotel Tichfield, and the atmosphere which pervaded that de- 
lightful hostelry, and we grew to feel much at home within its 
walls. One year we happened to be in Port Antonio when 
Jack London arrived there on his wedding trip with his second 
wife, delightful Charmian — his real mate destined for him 
since the beginning of time. 

My husband and I became good friends of the Londons ; 
and that New Year we four went swimming together in Port 
Antonio Harbor, where the waters look like a big glass filled 
with pousse-cafe — so many are the wonderful shades of 
color reflected therein. Afterward, the Londons visited us 
at our bungalow, after they had returned from their adven- 
turous and exhausting voyage on the Snark, and both were 
showing the strain they had undergone. Such dear lovers 
as they were ! In Jamaica I had looked at Jack London's palm ; 
and I had told him that he must conserve his vitality, and not 
give such complete rein to his love of adventure, or he would 
not live fifteen years. He lived eleven, I believe, after that. 

The proprietor of the Tichfield made a feature of highly 
artistic menus, and had as his able aide a most gifted artist 
printer, Mr. Hadley. One day we arrived at the Tichfield 
at noon ; and the proprietor came to me saying that as it was 
Lincoln's Birthday he desired an extra feature to do honor 
to the occasion in the way of a beautiful menu card. The 
artist had done his part, and now he wished I would do mine 
by writing a verse for the outside of the card. The verses 
would be needed in an hour in order to have the printers 

209 



210 THE WORLDS AND I 

supply the cards by dinner time. It seemed rather a hurried 
order to give my Muse; but she was obliging and supplied 
the following verses in time to satisfy the printers and to 
please mine host : 

LINCOLN 

When God created this good world 
A few stupendous peaks were hurled 
From His strong hand, and they remain, 
The wonder of the level plain. 
But these colossal heights are rare, 
While shifting sands are everywhere. 

So with the race. The centuries pass, 

And nations fall like leaves of grass. 

They die — forgotten and unsung, 

While straight from God some souls are flung 

To live, immortal and sublime. 

So lives great Lincoln for all time. 

Having proven myself able to meet such a situation suc- 
cessfully, the proprietor repeated the request on my next visit 
to his hotel, which occurred January 16, 1909. 

We had noticed a striking-looking couple in the dining room 
at noon, the day of our arrival, and had been told they were 
Sir Henry and Lady Blake. Sir Henry was for a period of 
eight years the Governor of Jamaica; then eight years Gov- 
ernor of Newfoundland; then of Hong Kong. This was 
his first visit to Jamaica since he went away to assume other 
duties. A dinner was to be given him that night — a stag 
dinner, and a very beautiful souvenir was planned for the oc- 
casion — and would I write some verses for it? I asked for 
more information regarding Sir Henry's association with Ja- 
maica ; and learned that he had caused fine bridges and streets 
to be made; and had done more to exploit the beauty and 
the worth of Jamaica than any other Governor had done. He 
was, in truth, Jamaica's favorite ruler. I endeavored to put 
these facts into twelve lines, which was all the space accorded 
me by the printer. The lines were: 



HAPPY MEMORIES 21 1 

JAMAICA 

The fairest Island in the seas, 

The darling of the Sun ; 
Her friends abide on every side 

But in her heart dwells one 
Who loves her for her own dear sake, 
Blake, Blake, Blake. 

He decked her with colossal gifts 

And flung them at her feet ; 
He showed her worth to all the earth 

In splendid bridge and street ; 

Then let his name the echoes wake. 

Blake, Blake, Blake. 

The verses were read aloud by one of the forty guests 
with great effect; and after dinner Sir Henry and Lady Blake 
asked to be presented. Lady Blake and I began to converse, 
and we found so many topics of mutual interest that we 
suddenly discovered the lights were about to be turned off 
in the room where we sat and observed we were the only 
guests in the hotel who had not retired. My husband had 
gone to our room after chatting with Sir Henry, leaving me 
deep in conversation with this very entertaining woman. This 
was the beginning of a most interesting acquaintance. Lady 
Blake wrote me after she returned to Ireland, where they 
made their home. Sir Henry was Irish, Lady Blake, English, 
and their marriage had been a very romantic one. When we 
visited England the following year Lady Blake asked us to 
come to Youghal and spend a few days at their home, Myrtle 
Grove. This we did, sailing from Queenstown afterward. 

The house in which we visited was built thirty years before 
America's discovery. It had been occupied at one time by 
Sir Walter Raleigh, and his room was mine during my visit: 
my husband slept in the room where Spenser wrote one 
part of his "Faerie Queene." Lady Blake had turned an old 
stable into a most artistic studio, where she painted a few 
hours each day. She was an accomplished artist, and her paint- 
ings of the ferns and flowers of the various lands where her 



212 THE WORLDS AND I 

husband's official duties had caused them to reside occupy a 
dignified place in England's collection of that nature. 

The house was filled with the rarest of Chinese furniture 
and objects of art. In several rooms we observed old prints 
of various kinds of Nell Gwynne. We knew that Lady Blake 
was the sister of the Duchess of St. Albans and later, looking 
through the book of English peers, we found that the first 
son of Charles II and Nell Gwynne was legitimatized by the 
King and made the first Duke of St. Albans. The present 
Duke of that title is the eleventh. 

Lady Blake is one of the most brilliant women of her period 
— a linguist, an artist, profoundly read, and gifted in conver- 
sation. It was indeed a privilege to meet her and her famous 
husband in their interesting domain. 

In the garden of Myrtle Grove Sir Walter Raleigh, after 
returning from Virginia, planted the first tobacco and pota- 
toes used in Europe, and it was under a yew tree in this 
garden, while enjoying his first smoke, that his servant dashed 
a bucket of water over him, thinking his master was on fire. 

While I was at Myrtle Grove the New York American 
cabled, asking me for a sentiment on the death of Mark Twain. 
I sent the following: 

A radiant soul with genius bright 
Now lends to other realms delight; 
Let Heaven be glad, let earth rejoice 
Since unto us was left his voice. 

During this visit to Europe, my very enterprising publish- 
ers, Messrs. Gay & Hancock, arranged a unique testimonial 
for me. I was the guest of honor at a luncheon party of 
sixty men — publishers, editors, bookmen of all kinds, news- 
paper men, and some invited guests from other circles. It 
was given at the Holborn Restaurant. Beautiful editions of 
my works were displayed in the windows of all the London 
book stores. Mr. William T. Stead was one of the speakers 
of the day. All the menus were heart-shaped with my 
portrait on the cover. That same season I was the 
guest at the Poetry Recital Society. This society is composed 



HAPPY MEMORIES 213 

of the descendants of distinguished names in the world of 
poetry, and the occasion was particularly interesting to me. 
I saw there the Earl of Lytton, a Rossetti, several Shake- 
speares, a Wordsworth, a Southey, a Dryden. Then there 
were representatives through the female line of Burns, Spen- 
ser, Watts, Tennyson, Hemans, Proctor, Swinburne, and a 
score more of well-known names. It was an evening full of 
thrills for me. 

On our next visit to England we had the most delightful 
day with Marie Corelli in her exquisite home at Stratford-on- 
Avon. She invited our good friends, Dr. and Mrs. Frank 
Howard Humphries, to bring us to luncheon, and we motored 
out from London to that historic spot on a glorious June day. 
This brilliant author proved to be a most entertaining woman 
and a fascinating hostess. The day is marked in memory's 
calendar with a red letter. 

As we came away I glanced back at the river Avon where 
I saw a single swan floating, and later the following verses 
were the result of that glance: 

ON AVON'S BREAST 

One day when England's June was at its best 
I saw a stately and imperious swan 
Floating on Avon's fair, untroubled breast. 
Sudden it seemed as if all strife had gone 
Out of the world ; all discord, all unrest. 

The sorrows and the sinnings of the race 

Faded away like nightmares in the dawn : 

All heaven was one blue background for the grace 

Of Avon's beautiful, slow moving swan 

And earth held nothing mean or commonplace. 

Life seemed no longer to be hurrying on 
With unbecoming haste, but softly trod 
As one who reads in emerald leaf, no lawn, 
Or crimson rose, a message straight from God. 
On Avon's breast I saw a stately swan. 

One of the most unaccountable and exciting experiences 
of my life took place at the Pan-American Exposition in 
Buffalo. 



214 THE WORLDS AND I 

My husband was unable to attend this exposition, but he 
thought I ought to go; and as there were many of our ac- 
quaintances in Buffalo at the time, he felt I would be well 
looked after. 

I had been requested by the editor of the Cosmopolitan 
Magazine to write a poem about the exposition ; and I recol- 
lect the tons of material in the way of histories he sent me to 
read up before I wrote the poem. I read thoroughly and wrote 
carefully; and he was pleased with the poem, but I doubt 
if any other human being ever cared for it. I know I did 
not. It was written wholly from my head; my heart was 
not in it. Having written the poem, however, I thought I 
ought to visit the exposition. I went about the different 
departments with interest, accompanied by various friends, 
and found it instructive and enjoyable; and was about to re- 
turn on an evening train to New York, when in the early 
afternoon I met a friend from Little Rock, Arkansas, then re- 
siding in New York. This was Mrs. Hollenberg, a typical 
Southern woman of great charm, universally beloved. Learn- 
ing that I was leaving that evening, Mrs. Hollenberg urged 
me to go and see Cummins' Indian Congress. "You like to 
see dancing," she said, "and these Indians do remarkable war 
dances. I am sure Mr. Cummins will be glad to meet you; 
you know he used to be a leader socially in the South and a 
great man for cotillions, but now he has taken up this work 
among the Indians and is making a success only second to 
Buffalo Bill." 

We entered the Indian tent and Mrs. Hollenberg brought 
Mr. Cummins and introduced him. Mr. Cummins told me 
the Sioux were about to do their war dance; and he pointed 
out the old Apache Geronimo, then ninety years old, who 
was a war prisoner with a terrible record of savagery, but 
who was carried about with the show as one of its attractions. 
After a moment Mr. Cummins was asked by one of his as- 
sistants to come into the tent of the Sioux, from which he 
emerged shortly to tell me that the Sioux had learned of my 
presence and wished to adopt me. 

"What in the world are you talking about?" I asked, in 



HAPPY MEMORIES 215 

amazement. "How do the Sioux know anything about me, 
and why do they want to adopt me?" 

Mr. Cummins only smiled. "I simply tell you what they 
told me," he said. "Come up by the tent and we may find out 
more." 

I accompanied him to the tent, and left Mrs. Hollenberg 
sitting near old Geronimo. Mr. Cummins disappeared into 
the tent, and in a very short interval appeared, followed by the 
whole Sioux tribe. They were in full war paint and feathers, 
and carried all sorts of death dealing implements. They at 
once began the most horrible dance about me — shrieking and 
shaking their knives and pistols in my face. Mrs. Hollen- 
berg saw me growing very white, and came and stood beside 
me. Mr. Cummins had gone over to speak with old Gero- 
nimo. Presently the dance ended and each "brave" laid his 
knife and gun at my feet, rose and said "How" and shook 
my hand; and the squaws came from the tent and followed 
suit. Mr. Cummins said I was now a Sioux, and that he 
had asked old Geronimo to give me a name, and Geronimo had 
said at once, "Princess White Wings." As I was dressed in a 
black traveling suit I do not know what suggested the name 
to him. In truth the whole occurrence has always been most 
unaccountable to me. 

Had Mr. Cummins known that I was to be present that 
afternoon I should have suspected him of preparing a spec- 
tacular bit of advertising, but my visit was wholly impromptu ; 
and, besides, no newspaper account was ever given of the inci- 
dent so far as I know. How the Indians should have been 
aware of my presence and why they should have been in- 
terested in me, has never been explained. 

Two years later I visited the St. Louis Exposition and 
learned that Cummins' Indian Congress was to give an eve- 
ning entertainment, and accepted the invitation of friends to 
occupy a box. Mr. Cummins came to the box and said his 
Indians had expressed a desire, on being told I was in the 
house, to speak to me after the entertainment closed. So they 
filed up, and again shook hands and said "How." The next 
day to my hotel came a beautiful bead reticule, containing a 



216 THE WORLDS AND I 

pair of beaded moccasins and the following letter, which was 
in Indian dialect, but which Mr. Cummins had translated. 
I have both the original and the translation: 

St. Louis, October 22, 1904. 
Mrs. Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 
"Princess White Wings," 
St. Louis, Mo. 
Dear Princess : Your coming to visit us in the Indian Congress 
gladdened our hearts like the Star in the North sky, that guides us 
when we are far away, back to our wigwam home on the 
plains. 

Our hearts bleed with happiness when you shake our hands at 
the Indian Congress. 

We feel much good and beg the Great Spirit of the Red Man 
to make the wind blow nice and the great forest bow its leaves 
and limbs in the presence of the big sun in the skies, whenever 
you are present. 

We shake your hand and send a little present, bead pocket- 
book, to fill with the Paleface money and hope it always be big 
full, so our Princess have always plenty in the Paleface land. 

We always meet you gladly and protect you when come among 
our people. 

Chief La Kota, he too help to guide you to where all our 
people live. 

We shake your hand, 

Signed, Chief Red Shirt, 
Chief Red Star, 
Chief Spotted Tail, 
Chief American Horse, 
for all the Indians at Cummins' Indian Congress. 

As interpreted by me, Henry Standing Bear. 

That next summer I gave a costume ball, and endeavored 
to improvise a "Princess White Wings" costume for myself. 
It was far from being true to the tribe, however. 

I wore a plain little white silk gown, over which I hung 
a wonderful belt of Indian workmanship, and white feathers 
were stuck in my hair. My wings consisted of white tulle 
draperies ; and I am sure any real Indian Princess would have 
despised me, but the guests thought the effect pleasing, not 
being overcritical. 



HAPPY MEMORIES 217 

It was the following summer that we gave a series of garden 
fetes for the benefit of our "Women's Improvement Society'' 
of Granite Bay. This society had become a very enterprising 
one, building pavements and keeping the streets in condition, 
lighting dark byways and in every manner improving our 
beautiful resort. 

One of our early experiences had been both amusing and 
vexing. Finding it impossible to hire men to clean our streets, 
one of our leading young ladies, daughter of a prominent 
railroad official, suggested that we do it ourselves. I agreed, 
saying we would all wear white wash gowns and white hats, 
and call ourselves the "Short Beach White Wings." 

The whole young feminine population went into it enthusi- 
astically, and so much had it been talked about and discussed, 
that, to our amazement, when we sallied forth, broom and pick 
in hand, we found a New Haven newspaper man and camera 
following us about. We were photographed and written up in 
a way that caused the most discordant results. We had said 
that we did this work because we could not get the men to 
do it. We meant because we could not hire men for the work. 
The editor chose to construe our words to mean that we could 
not interest our husbands, brothers, sons and fellow citizens 
in making the town neat. This reflection on our fine men 
angered us, and pained our men ; and dreadful was the muddle 
in which the poor well-meaning White Wings found them\ 
selves. After that we decided to wait and hire men to do 
our work at any cost. 

Our society grew in power and our annual summer benefits 
provided it with money to enlarge its sphere of activity. The 
Bungalow lawns were adapted to outdoor fetes, and we gave 
some effective entertainments for our society and for charity. 
Having brought costumes from each country in our travels, 
the pretty girls of Granite Bay found pleasure in being robed 
as Oriental sirens, and acting as ushers at our musicales ; and 
these fantastically, yet historically, robed beauties, always 
proved drawing cards, bringing the people from neighboring 
resorts t6 pay their entrance fee to our Court, for these oc- 
casions. 



218 THE WORLDS AND I 

One of our most recent fetes was a purely social event given 
in honor of Mrs. Frank Howard Humphries of London, who 
was visiting me. We gave an outdoor minuet, with golden 
weather and blue seas and green trees to make the environ- 
ment perfect. 

Wonderful memories! wonderful hours to recall sitting 
alone in the twilight of life! 

Wonderful realizations of the vision which came with the 
little Oriental paper knife, in the old farmhouse in Wisconsin! 

I wrote to a friend in August, 1906, the following lines, 
from Mayence, Germany: 

"We saw the Kaiser to-day, reviewing his troops. Twenty 
thousand. It was a great sight, but made one feel that Universal 
Peace, so much talked about, is a million years away. It is. The 
Kaiser looked older than we had imagined from his pictures. We 
were very near him, and as we drove back to the hotel, he passed 
our carriage so closely we could have touched him." 

To that same friend I wrote from Cologne: 

"The Church of St. Ursula is built on the spot where Attila, the 
Hun, returning from a pilgrimage to Rome, with his soldiers, 
slaughtered St. Ursula and eleven thousand virgins. The interior 
of this Church is decorated with their bones. 

"In jeweled cases repose skulls, many of them in lovely lace 
caps embroidered by devout worshipers. One room of the Church 
has its walls fairly papered with the bones of these slaughtered 
nuns." 

How little any of us imagined at that time, the nearness of 
a similar slaughter of the innocents ! 

The following winter I wrote of my audience with the 
Pope, Pius X — that beautiful-faced man who never wanted to 
be a Pope, preferring his quiet priesthood, and whose person- 
ality expressed his sense of serious responsibility under the 
burden of his position. 

"I have had an audience with the Pope. That expression sug- 
gests sitting down in a stately room, alone with this august per- 
sonage, and engaging in intimate conversation. Instead, it means 
waiting for a lengthy period of time, in a more or less crowded 



HAPPY MEMORIES 219 

room, until a tired and overtaxed man, with the weight of an 
enormous responsibility resting upon him, comes, in the per- 
formance of a duty which must grow monotonous to him, and 
in his brief transit bestows a general blessing on every one in the 
room. Each one bends the knee, and kisses his hand. I, like all 
others, carried many rosaries and strings of beads over my arm, 
and all these came in for their share of the general blessing. 
Naturally, no individual was privileged to converse with the Pope, 
but the 'Audience' left one with the satisfaction of having been 
in the presence, and having seen at close range, one of the world 
figures. Pope Piux X is a tall man, with a beautiful, sad face. 
I felt drawn to him." 

My blessed chains and rosaries gave great pleasure to many 
sweet Catholic friends afterward; and only this year (1917) I 
gave the last one to a dear girl who sent it to a Catholic sol- 
dier, telling him it had been blessed by the Pope. 

My husband and I were on board the Olympic, sailing to 
England, when the Titanic went down. At the breakfast 
table our steward told us that news had been received that the 
Titanic had struck an iceberg, but was saved with all on board. 
He said, however, he feared more serious news might come 
later. Mr. George Marcus, of the firm of Marcus & Company, 
of New York, was one of the Olympic passengers, and an inti- 
mate friend of my husband. Shortly after breakfast we 
walked on deck, and Mr. Marcus and his artist son walked 
with us; Mr. Marcus recounted a curious dream he had had 
the previous afternoon. He said, "I told my son after waking 
from my afternoon nap, that I had dreamed of the Titanic. 
I thought I saw it sailing over a smooth sea, and then suddenly 
run up the sheer straight side of an enormous iceberg and turn 
a somersault and sink into the sea. ,, The son said both he 
and his father felt the fate of the Titanic was more serious 
than had been reported. It was not until the afternoon that 
the terrible facts were received on board the Olympic. It made 
the remainder of our voyage very gruesome indeed, as nearly 
all the crew and half the passengers had friends and relatives 
on the Titanic. Our room-steward lost his father and two 
brothers. And it was during this voyage, that we, for the first 
time, realized fully the wonderful power of poise and self- 



220 THE WORLDS AND I 

control possessed by the Englishman. I wrote some verses, en- 
titled "The Englishman," as a result of this experience; and 
they appeared in an English paper the day we landed. Only on 
the arrival of the Olympic at the English port was the whole 
awful truth revealed to us. It was a dramatic hour never to 
be forgotten. 

THE ENGLISHMAN 

Born in the flesh and bred in the bone, 

Some of us harbor still 
A New World pride : and we flaunt or hide 

The Spirit of Bunker Hill. 
We claim our place as a separate race 

Or a self-created clan: 
Till there comes a day, when we like to say 

"We are kin of the Englishman." 

For under the front that seems so cold 

And the voice that is wont to storm, 
We are certain to find a big broad mind 

And a heart that is soft — and warm. 
He carries his woes in a lordly way, 

As only the great souls can: 
And it makes us glad when in truth we say 

"We are kin of the Englishman." 

He slams his door in the face of the world, 

If he thinks the world too bold : 
He will even curse : but he opens his purse 

To the poor, and the sick and the old. 
He is slow in giving to woman the vote, 

And slow to pick up her fan : 

But he GIVES HER ROOM IN THE HOUR OF DOOM 

And dies — like an Englishman! 

In England I had my attention called to a story by Morgan 
Robertson, which had been written more than a decade before 
the Titanic disaster, and which was being republished because 
of its peculiar plot. The story was entitled "Futility," and 
described the building of an enormous ship, the Titan, and 
of its destruction by an iceberg the second day after being 
launched. At the time the story was first published no such 



HAPPY MEMORIES 221 

monster passenger ships were known; but Mr. Robertson's 
imagination had given a picture of the Olympic and Titanic 
which was almost photographic in detail, and had called his 
ship the Titan. 

I was curious to know more of the matter ; so after my re- 
turn to America I wrote to Mr. Robertson and received the 
following reply : 

"As to the motif of my story, I merely tried to write a good 
story with no idea of being a prophet. But, as in other stories of 
mine, and in the work of other and better writers, coming dis- 
coveries and events have been anticipated. I do not doubt that it 
is because all creative workers get into a hypnoid, telepathic and 
percipient condition, in which, while apparently awake, they are 
half asleep, and tap, not only the better informed minds of others 
but the subliminal realm of unknown facts. Some, as you know, 
believe that in this realm there is no such thing as Time, and the 
fact that a long dream can occur in an instant of time gives color 
to it, and partly explains prophecy." 

Interesting as Mr. Robertson's letter may be, it leaves the 
reader of "Futility," written and first published fourteen years 
before the Titanic was built and sunk, with a strange and 
creepy sensation. In the realm of unknown facts, was it 
already recorded fourteen years previously that the Titanic 
should sink? 

And how should Mr. Robertson fix on almost the very name 
which was afterward given to the ill-fated sea monster? 

In the year 191 7 a similar puzzling and mysterious incident 
occurred. Miriam French, a beautiful American woman, was 
on board The City of Athens, sailing from Cape Town, Africa, 
to America. During her voyage Mrs. French amused herself 
by writing a story about the ship and imaginary passengers, 
and ended the tale by having the ship strike a mine and sink 
into the sea. Two months later The City of Athens met that 
exact fate. How can the purely material reasoning mind ex- 
plain such occurrences? 

One winter we spent several weeks in Biskra, the "Garden 
of Allah." Major and Mrs. Thomas, of England, were much 
in our party, and Mrs. Thomas and I grew to be very good 



222 THE WORLDS AND I 

friends. Walking about the fascinating desert town one day, 
we came upon a sand diviner. He claimed, of course, as they 
all did, to be the sand diviner of Kitchens' famous novel. We 
had him read our destinies ; and I do not now remember what 
he told me; but he assured Mrs. Thomas she was to receive 
very sudden news of the sickness of some one at home — an 
accident, he thought. And he said she would change all her 
plans of travel and go home. We parted company the next 
day; but weeks afterward there came a letter from Mrs. 
Thomas, saying she had received sudden news of an accident 
which had befallen her son, and they had gone back post-haste 
to England. How the old Arab with his dish of sand could 
foresee this is not in my power to explain. All I can do is to 
state the facts as related above. 

My first winter in Jamaica, I had caused myself much suf- 
fering, and given annoyance to Robert, and made myself un- 
popular with the native drivers, by taking note of all the 
cruelty shown horses and mules in that land. I was constantly 
reprimanding these drivers, and trying to make them more 
merciful; and while my husband was full of pity for the ani- 
mals, he felt I had undertaken a large contract in trying to 
change their ways during my brief tour. The next winter I 
decided to go about my humane work more systematically. I 
told each driver we engaged that I was taking notes on how 
the drivers treated their animals, and at the end of my stay in 
Jamaica it was my intention to give a medal and five dollars 
to the most humane driver. This plan worked very well, and 
saved many a poor beast needless blows. The medal and prize 
were bestowed upon Toppins, up at Moneague, on Mt. Diablo, 
of the Blue Range. 

The third winter, we were stopping some weeks at the 
beautiful Tichfield Hotel, at Port Antonio. My table, where 
I wrote letters, faced a scene of exquisite beauty; but just 
beyond the lawns and lovely trees there was a steep road, up 
which was being hauled by mule teams material for a new 
bungalow. The drivers were beating these mules one morning 
unmercifully : and after a half hour I threw down my pen and 
declared I could endure it no longer. 



HAPPY MEMORIES 223 

"Why do you not go out and talk to the drivers?" my hus- 
band suggested. "Perhaps if they knew you were the medal 
and five-dollar-prize lady, they would be more merciful, at 
least while you stay/' 

I acted on his suggestion, and sallied forth under my para- 
sol to talk with the darkies. They listened respectfully and 
then their spokesman answered : "Mistress, yo' don't know the 
nature of de mule. Yo' can't make a mule go widout beatin' 
him." 

"I know better," I replied wrathfully. "That is just what 
the old slave-drivers used to say about your grandfathers." 

This remark, I fear, lost its point with my audience. Then 
I continued : "I have made a very tired and lazy and balky 
mule start his load by holding an apple in front of his nose. 
He got the apple and went on briskly. Try it." 

The darkey stared at me, and then burst into a loud guffaw, 
and said, "Good Lord, Mistress, I hain't had a taste of apple 
in five years; can't get money enough to buy 'em for myself, 
much less for mules." And the drivers went down the hill 
shouting with laughter at me. 

My husband delighted in telling this story all over Jamaica. 
The apple is, or was at that time, an expensive luxury in 
Jamaica. 

It was an interesting day, the one we spent with Luther 
Burbank, at his home in Santa Rosa, on our return from the 
Hawaiian Islands. 

Mr. Burbank had arranged his busy life in advance of our 
coming, so that we could enjoy to the full his hospitality and 
companionship. It was a few years after the great earthquake, 
and Santa Rosa, his home town, had suffered greatly during 
that calamity, which California people all refer to as "The 
Great Fire," never speaking the word earthquake. I asked 
Mr. Burbank to tell me his personal experiences, and this 
was what he related, speaking of it as a curious incident 
merely; but to me it has ever seemed an evidence of invisible 
helpers protecting an absolutely unselfish soul. 

Mr. Burbank, always an excellent sleeper, never troubled 



224 THE WORLDS AND I 

with wakefulness, no matter how great his mental responsibili- 
ties, retired at his usual hour the night preceding the earth- 
quake ; and found himself unable to close his eyes in slumber. 
He was not nervous, but simply lay awake until dawn, when 
he was shaken out of bed by the shock. His house was not. 
badly damaged. His first thought was of his valuable nega- 
tives, worth thousands of dollars to science, which were being 
developed in the photographer's rooms, in the village. He 
walked down to the village, and saw the large six-story brick 
building (I think it was that height) in ruins. It required six 
weeks of daily hauling away of the debris, later, to remove 
the wreck. Yet when this was done, the photographer came 
one day to Mr. Burbank in much excitement, to show him a 
remarkable thing. The entire cases in which the precious nega- 
tives of rare plants and bulbs and shoots were placed had 
remained undisturbed and uninjured. They were wedged in 
among bricks which served to make a wall about them. 

But this was not all. A field which Mr. Burbank had pre- 
pared for transplanting his shoots required harrowing. It was 
a large field and the time and expense would have been con- 
siderable. When Mr. Burbank drove out to see its condition, 
he found it perfectly harrowed and quite ready for his trans- 
planting. The earthquake had at least done one good turn. 

These incidents Mr. Burbank regarded as mere accidents. 
But knowing that when any human being arrives at a state 
of absolute unselfish consecration of his life to the good of 
the race, and has no personal ambitions or greedy desires, that 
he is ever afterward guarded and protected by the Lords of 
Love, I felt sure the occurrences related were not accidental. 

One winter in Cairo I was approached by a very handsome 
Hindu astrologer, bearing fine credentials, and begging my 
patronage. He was naturally psychic, he said, besides being a 
profound student of the old science of astrology, the parent 
of astronomy. I gave him my patronage and found him quite 
all that he had claimed to be. So interesting and remarkable 
was he, that at his request I wrote and signed my approval of 
him, and recommended him to all who desired an investigation 



HAPPY MEMORIES 225 

of that phase of occultism. It was five years later that my 
husband and I reached Port Said in our tour of the world. 
We had been three weeks on shipboard, and with all the other 
passengers we hurried down the gangplank and out to the 
cafe, where we had been told good food could be obtained. 
We were to be in Port Said only a few hours before starting 
forth on the Mediterranean Sea for other goals. 

No sooner had we set foot on land than a throng of natives 
(natives of every clime of earth) followed us, importuning 
us to buy or give or patronize them in some manner. One 
Arab palmist was particularly persistent. He insisted that he 
could tell us all that lay in the future, as well as recount all 
the past held, and he would not be ignored or driven away. 
He followed us to the cafe, and stood beside us as we ordered, 
impervious to my husband's frowns. 

"You are Americans, I am sure," he said. "I always know 
Americans. I have read the hand of one of your celebrated 
Americans — a lady writer, Ella Wheeler Wilcox; she wrote 
me a letter of recommendation/' My husband, for the first 
time, gave the pest of a man his attention. "Indeed," he said. 
"Have you met Mrs. Wilcox? Let us see the letter." The 
man produced a typewritten copy of the letter I had given the 
Hindu astrologer. The name was changed and palmist was 
substituted for astrologer. 

My husband passed the treasure over to me smilingly. 
"Have you the original copy?" I asked. "I should like to see 
her penmanship." 

"Oh, I keep that at home," the man replied. "I do not want 
to wear it out." 

"Do you remember how Mrs. Wilcox looked?" I queried. 
"I have often wanted to know." 

"Oh, yes," the man replied glibly. "I met her in Cairo and 
read her palm there five years ago. She was a very stout old 
lady with very white hair." 

My husband with difficulty restrained his mingled amuse- 
ment and indignation — his amusement at the expression on 
my face and his indignation at the man's boldness. He handed 
back the slip of soiled paper and said, "You are a fraud and 



226 THE WORLDS AND I 

a liar; leave here at once; this lady is Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 
and she is my wife. She never saw you before." I cor- 
roborated the statement, asking, "Am I a stout old lady, and 
have I very white hair?" 

"But didn't you have white hair five years ago, and were 
you " 

"I never saw you before in my life," I replied. "And I 
never want to see you again. Go away and do not dare show 
that paper to another person." 

"Leave instantly," my husband added, "or I will have you 
arrested." The man vanished, but three different parties of 
our ship acquaintances told us he had pursued them during the 
afternoon with the same story and the same soiled slip of 
paper. 

During the next few days I would see my husband chuckling 
over his cigar, and he would turn to me and ask, "Are you a 
very stout old lady with very white hair?" And then he 
would say, "You missed a great deal in not being able to 
see your own face, Ella, as that man described you." 

One time in England my husband and I enjoyed a day of 
delight by securing seats in the Vanderbilt coach and riding 
to Brighton and back. Alfred Vanderbilt drove part of the 
way himself, and others of his friends the remainder of the 
way. 

Naturally, they did not know or care who we were; nor 
did we want recognition. We were off for our first trip in a 
coach and four on a beautiful English June day; and a mem- 
orably happy time it was. As we rolled along, back of relays 
of splendid horses, my mind began to fashion a foolish, lilting 
rhyme which was all ready to be written down when I re- 
turned to the Langham Hotel that evening. It ran as follows : 



ALL IN A COACH AND FOUR 

The quality folk went riding along 

All in a Coach and Four — 

And pretty Annette, in a calico gown 

(Bringing her marketing things from town) 



HAPPY MEMORIES 227 

Stopped short with her Sunday store, 
And wondered if ever it would betide 
That she, in a long-plumed hat, would ride 
Away in a Coach and Four. 

A lord there was — oh a lonely soul, 

There in the Coach and Four, 

His years were young, but his heart was old 

And he hated his coaches and hated his gold, 

(Those things which we all adore) 

And he thought how sweet it would be to trudge 

Along with the fair little country drudge 

And away from his Coach and Four. 

So back he rode the very next day 
All in his Coach and Four, 
And he went each day, whether dry or wet, 
Until he married the sweet Annette 
(In spite of her lack of lore). 
But they didn't trudge off on foot together 
For he bought her a hat with a long, long feather 
And they rode in the Coach and Four. 

Now a thing like this could happen we know 

All in a Coach and Four, 

But the fact of it is, 'twixt me and you, 

There isn't a word of this jingle true 

(Pardon, I do implore) ; 

It is only a foolish and fanciful song 

That came to me as I rode along 

All in a Coach and Four. 

While the English people have been most gracious and ap- 
preciative in their attitude toward my work, the English high- 
brow critics (like the American) have had little use for me. 
The most extraordinary impression has seemed to prevail 
among them, causing a sort of resentment seemingly, that I 
am living in the greatest luxury produced by enormous prices 
paid for poor poems, and endless sales of unworthy books. 

A most amusing expression of this idea occurred in a re- 
view of one of my books published in England. Referring 
to my ignoble "wealth" and equally ignoble "popularity/' they 
mentioned my love of flaunting my riches in the eyes of a suf- 
fering world, and cited the verses as a proof ! 



228 THE WORLDS AND I 

The droll man actually imagined I owned the Coach and 
Four, never thinking my husband had paid a few shillings 
for our one and only drive in that kind of vehicle. 

Of such brain stuff is fashioned many a critic's mental 
apparatus ! 

In my career, I have not often replied to critics. Receiving 
from the first more appreciation than it seemed to me was my 
due, I could not complain if criticism, even when not de- 
served, fell to my lot. Once, when quite young, however, I 
did reply to a sarcastic critic. A composer of music (a local 
celebrity) had asked me for some simple "homey verses" to 
set to music ; something pathetic. I wrote a song called 
"Mother, Bring My Little Kitten." 

It was supposed to be a dying child asking for her pet, which 
she feared she might not meet in heaven. It was mere senti- 
mental stuff, of no value, of course. But the "Funny Man" 
on the Waukesha Democrat (I think that was the paper) 
poked much fun at me, and said I ought to follow my song with 
another, "Daddy, Do Not Drown the Puppies." 

I published in one of the Wisconsin papers the following 
week some verses with the caption suggested, heading them 
with the Waukesha man's item. The chorus of my verses ran 
as follows: 

Save, oh, save one puppy, daddy, 

From a fate so dark and grim — 
Save the very smallest puppy — 
Make an editor of him. 

They went the rounds of the Western press and caused 
much amusement Of all my thousands of verses, I think my 
brother Ed preferred these. He set them to a tune of his 
own, and often went about the house singing them. Always 
when any editor attacked me afterwards, Ed chanted this song. 

It was not many years ago when I again replied to a critic. 
It was a woman critic this time, and she said : 

"How may a man be a popular poet and yet save his soul 
and his art? This is a question which only the select few o£ 



HAPPY MEMORIES 229 

any group or period are called upon to answer. Some popular 
poets, of course, have no souls to save — none at least which 
emerge above the milk and water current of their verse — the 
Tuppers and Ella Wheeler Wilcoxes of their generation. 
Others have no trouble with their souls; they just sing nat- 
urally about common sights and sounds, the things all men 
know or feel or think they know and feel — like Mr. James 
Whitcomb Riley, Eugene Field, Bret Harte in his brief lyric 
moods, or, now and then, Joaquin Miller, that high-hearted 
old democrat who now sleeps in his Sierras." 

To which I replied ; 

"I have just chanced upon your reference to me in your 
periodical. It gave me a sharp hurt. Skilled criticism is as 
needed in the world of art as skilled surgery in the world of 
medicine. But the doctor who thrusts a rusty nail into the 
flesh of a patient because he chances not to like him is not prac- 
ticing surgery. You thrust a rusty pen into a poet you chance 
not to like. That is not criticism. It is spitefulness. 

"Poetry to me is a divine thing. I love it with all my heart 
(yes, even with my soul, which I dare believe is well evolved). 
There are as many kinds of poetry as there are of intellects in 
men. I have followed the bent of my own talents since I first 
thought in verse as a child, and have worked according to my 
own light. I have never made a bid for popularity. If I 
chance to be a popular poet it is because I have loved God and 
life and people, and expressed sentiments and emotions which 
found echoes in other hearts. If this is a sin against art, let 
me be unregenerate to the day of my death ! 

"What have you read of my works? No critic is justified 
in making such an assertion publicly as yours unless the author 
has been thoroughly read. Have you read my last collection, 
Ticked Poems,' and my recent poems in the Cosmopolitan 
Magazine and Good Housekeeping ? If you have, and call any 
or all of these milk and water, then there is something the 
matter with your brain, as well as your heart. If you call my 
early poems milk and water, then I think you are suffering 
from arrested emotional development. Something weaker 



230 THE WORLDS AND I 

than milk and water must run in your veins in place of blood. 
That I have written much light verse, which is not poetry (any 
mere than it is doggerel), I know; it is simply popular verse. 
That I have written many real poems of literary and artistic 
value, even while of human interest, I also know. There is 
no more conceit in such knowledge or its avowal than in saying 
I know my eyes are brown. I am as capable of judging the 
difference between verse and poetry, even when my own, as of 
knowing the shades of colors, even in my own eyes. 

"Hoping you may develop a sense of responsibility which 
will cause you to study your poets before criticizing them, 
and that you may grow at least a sage bush of a heart to em- 
bellish your desert of intellect, I am, 

Sincerely yours." 

To which the critic replied: 

"Dear Madam : Pardon this delay in answering your letter 
of September 8th, which was mislaid. 

"I can only say that, while I have not read all your poems 
I have rarely been able to admire those I have read. They 
seem to be of a kind which lovers of the art must resent; in 
fact, I have thought of you as so eager for popularity and its 
rewards as to work solely toward that end. 

"We all have our standards, and if your verse is not ac- 
cording to ours, yet it has such a vogue as not to be quite 
negligible — hence my remark in our May number, which was 
intended, of course, not for you personally, but for you as 
an artist. If your feelings were hurt, I am sorry, but the 
integrity of the art is more important than anybody's feelings. 
I am, Yours very sincerely." 

And to which I again replied : 

"The fact that you have read a few of my verses and have 
not liked them, as you say, is not an excuse for you in the 
capacity of a critic to speak publicly of my work in your maga- 
zine as you did. No critic has a right to make such assertions 
without having read all a poet's work. Your assumption that 
'lovers of the art resent my kind of work' is only true when 



HAPPY MEMORIES 231 

these lovers chance to be of your special make of mind. There 
are other kinds! Not knowing me in the least, you have no 
right to think of me, as you say you have, 'eager for popularity 
and its benefits and working solely for those ends.' This 
should not be the reputation of a worthy critic. Something 
is expected of the critic in the way of 'noblesse oblige' as well 
as of the poet. Criticism should be big, broad, fearless and 
kind; just as the surgeon is kind to the patient, although 
obliged to wound. If you had taken poems of mine (my 'Son- 
nets of Abelard and Heloise/ for instance, which are regarded 
as my most ambitious work in a literary way) and then dis- 
sected them according to your standards, that would be criti- 
cism, even though it might not be universally convincing. 
What you did was not criticism. Except that I adore cats, I 
would call it 'cattish.' You lowered your standard as a self- 
made critic by giving me a nasty stab, without cause or sense. 
It cannot harm me, because my gifts are too well known, my 
work too well appreciated, and my own reverence and love 
for my growing poetical powers too great to be affected by 
such a stab; but it does harm to you as a critic; and both 
these letters are written to you with the hope of giving you 
higher ideals of criticism rather than of in any way changing 
your point of view toward myself. That does not matter; it 
is as if I had dropped a wisp of dried grass out of a big 
glorious bouquet ; but it matters much to you to be decent and 
dignified in your magazine, if you wish to prove your devo- 
tion to the 'integrity of your art/ 

"America has many poets who are giving the world speci- 
mens of real poetry. It has few critics who are giving real 
criticism. 

"Try to do as earnest a work for your chosen art as I am 
trying to do for mine, and then we may meet on even ground. 
But at present you are not even trying to do anything but 
indulge in personal prejudice. This puts you at a disadvan- 
tage, and gives me the position of the true critic with a pur- 
pose. For that purpose I am, 

Sincerely yours, 
"Ella Wheeler Wilcox." 



CHAPTER XVI 
The Battlefield of Love 

THE world's great battlefields are always shrines for the 
tourists. Waterloo is yearly visited by thousands of 
travelers, and pilgrimages are continually made in our own 
land to Bunker Hill, Yorktown and Gettysburg. 

When I went to France it was my desire to visit another 
great battlefield, a field where waged a strife that has re- 
sounded through centuries — that remarkable strife between 
religion and human passion, in the hearts of Abelard and 
Heloise. 

Guide books point only to the tomb at Pere Lachaise as all 
that survives of philosopher and pupil, lover and maid, hus- 
band and wife, monk and nun; but it was my good fortune 
to learn more of the lives of this ill-fated pair than the trans- 
lated volumes of their letters relate; and to see more of the 
places and objects associated with their names than the tomb 
at Pere Lachaise. 

Guided through the mazes of the cemetery to the tomb of 
the immortal lovers, by Mr. Charles Moonen, whose card 
and conversation proclaimed him "homme des lettres," while 
he acted as professional guide, I learned an interesting fact. 

"At Argenteuil," said Mr. Moonen, "you will find the old 
convent still standing, though no longer a convent, where 
Heloise received her first communion, and to which she re- 
turned afterward to take the vows for life." 

So to Argenteuil the next day was the pilgrimage made; 
at first to meet with many discouragements and baffling con- 
tradictions from residents of that ancient and historic environ 
of Paris, for Heloise lived long ago — and while the poets, and 
the savants, and the bookworms, and the dreamers of Argen- 

232 



THE BATTLEFIELD OF LOVE 233 

teuil may all know her domicile, it was not my good fortune 
to meet any of them that first hour. 

Argenteuil, in truth, is more famed for its excellent aspara- 
gus than for its lovers of romantic history. But, at last, 
a gentle-faced nun, telling her beads as she walked before a 
church door, directed me aright. "It is number 70, Boulevard 
Heloise, madame, and a private residence,' , she said. "Here 
in this church you will find some of the sacred relics taken 
from the convent when Heloise and her sisters in Christ were 
forced to leave and go to the Paraclet. You must come and 
see them another day; we have service now, and they could 
not be shown." 

Driving along the boulevard in the glorious sunshine, the 
story of Heloise came back to me, in all its force; that old 
story of mad love, sad suffering, and life-long sorrow. 

Heloise had been sent to the convent of Argenteuil for the 
rudiments of her education by her uncle, the Canon Fulbert. 
She had returned to his home (now No. 11 Quai aux Fleurs 
— where an inscription over the door commemorates the fact), 
a brilliant, beautiful young creature, who was famed for her 
intellect and learning, while still in the first flush of girlhood. 
Canon Fulbert was proud of her attainments; and prouder 
still when she expressed a wish to study the philosophy of 
the great Abelard, then in the height of his fame, and chief 
of the school of Paris, the nucleus of what is known to-day 
as the great Sorbonne. Abelard was thirty-seven, Heloise a 
little more than half that age, perhaps; and one does not need 
even to recall the fact that the eleventh century was an era 
of licentiousness, to understand how Abelard, in his intimate 
association with his beautiful pupil, stood in danger of falling 
from his pinnacle of religious power. The Canon Fulbert, 
believing in the prudence and wisdom of his niece (as men 
believe only and always in their own), and having faith in 
the sincerity of Abelard's ideals, permitted the philosopher 
to become a member of his household in order to give Heloise 
the full benefit of his instruction. 

Not only was Abelard given the privilege of teaching the 
beautiful girl, but he was authorized to chastise her if she 



234 THE WORLDS AND I 

became indifferent or negligent. In his letter to a friend 
long afterward Abelard wrote: 

"We were under one roof, and we became one heart. Under 
the pretext of study we gave ourselves utterly to love. We 
opened our books, but there were more kisses than explana- 
tions, and our eyes sought each other rather than the texts. 
Yet, sometimes, to still further deceive the uncle, I chastised 
Heloise as a bad pupil, but the blows were those of love, not 
of anger. As I grew more and more drunken with passion, 
I cared less and less for my school and my studies. It was 
a violent effort for me to go about my duties. I lost all in- 
spiration. I could only speak to my students from memory, 
repeating old lessons, and when I undertook to write I pro- 
duced only love verses." 

To-day when a priest or a monk becomes obsessed with a 
woman's charms he marries her, and is excommunicated from 
the church, and after a little time ceases to be remembered 
by the public. The world has grown too busy and humanity 
too broad to persecute the backslider. 

Father Hyacinth was but a passing figure in the court of 
Church vs. Cupid. But in 1119 such was the state of public 
sentiment that the incontinence of a great church dignitary 
might easily be condoned, if it was not bruited abroad; but 
his marriage was looked upon in the light of an everlasting 
disgrace, and an unpardonable sin. One familiar with the 
history of that period realizes the truth of this statement. 

So Heloise regarded it, and so vast and overwhelming was 
her devotion to Abelard that she violently opposed any sug- 
gestion of a marriage, even after her flight to Brittany, where 
at the home of Abelard's sister she gave birth to a son, 
Astrolabius. She replied thus to Abelard when he came to 
inform her that he had promised her uncle to make her his 
wife. "It is a dishonor for you to marry; think of the preju- 
dice you will arouse in the church — what tears you will cost 
philosophy. How deplorable to see a man, created for the 
whole world, serving one woman." 



THE BATTLEFIELD OF LOVE 235 

Then this remarkable young woman quoted her lover all 
the passages prejudicial to marriage in the Bible and other 
books, and cited the words of Cicero, who declared that he 
could not "at one time attend to a woman and philosophy." 

"Think of the discomfort and annoyance of having a nurse 
and a child in the house when you are meditating on philoso- 
phy; and, when you are inspired to write, the interruptions of 
domestic life will destroy your work. Let us remain as we 
are — lovers," she said. "The world will forgive our love, 
but it would never forgive our marriage. It would under- 
stand how I led you to forget your vows of continence, but 
would not pardon me for letting you break your vow x>i 
celibacy." 

Nevertheless, Abelard, held by his promise to Fulbert, made 
Heloise his wife. She returned to Paris with her uncle after 
the ceremony, and Fulbert, despite his promise of keeping the 
marriage secret, announced it to the world. Heloise promptly 
denied it, knowing that public sentiment would condemn the 
legal part of his dereliction, while it would condone his ama- 
tory sin. So enraged was the uncle by her denials that he 
subjected the poor girl to the greatest abuses. Abelard, in- 
formed of the situation, sent Heloise to the convent of Ar- 
genteuil, and there she donned the robe of the sisters, with 
the exception of the veil, and lived ostensibly the religious 
life of the holy sisters. 

But the letters of Abelard — the unexpurgated editions — tell 
us that the love life of the pair was not interrupted by the 
convent or the robe. There was a secret passage to the con- 
vent, and through this passage Abelard was admitted to his 
wife. Sixteen years afterward he writes — in answer to her 
complaint of all they had been forced to suffer: "Do we 
not deserve our suffering? Did I not secretly visit you at 
Argenteuil after our marriage? Even in the refectory, sa- 
cred to the Holy Virgin, did I not so far forget God as to 
clasp you unresisting in my arms? That profanation alone 
merited all we have since endured." 

But the love life of Abelard and Heloise at Argenteuil was 
of brief duration. Secret as they believed their meetings, the 



236 THE WORLDS AND I 

story reached the ears of Canon Fulbert, and roused him to 
fury; robbed of his niece, who in turn was robbed of her 
good name by Abelard, Canon Fulbert planned a horrible 
revenge. 

Then followed the terrible tragedy, its parallel unknown in 
all the annals of history. The Canon Fulbert, with his con- 
federates, inflicted incredible mutilations upon Abelard — in- 
juries worse than death; and shortly afterward Abelard en- 
tered the monastery of St. Denis, and Heloise, at his wish, 
took the veil for life in the convent of Argenteuil. 

And now here was I approaching that very convent, no 
longer a convent but an ordinary Parisian house set back in 
a court, and bearing the placard, "A Louer. ,, A pretty con- 
cierge walked in the garden, and when I explained my errand, 
her face lighted with sympathy, and taking down a bunch of 
keys from a nail on the inner wall, she unlocked the door of 
a room opening upon a small enclosed garden. "This," she 
said, "was the sleeping-room of Heloise. Her bed stood in 
that alcove. By the window was once a door which led to 
the confessional, and outside was her garden where she 
walked." It was overwhelming — the thought of it all. Here 
Heloise had first studied, a happy, brilliant, care-free girl. 
Here she had returned after her marriage to escape the cruelty 
of her uncle, and here had she taken her vows for life in the 
bloom of her youth, saying as she accepted the veil which shut 
her in forever from the world, "Criminal that I was, to bring 
such misfortune on thee: receive now my expiation, in this 
chastisement which I must forever bear." Even in that sol- 
emn hour it was her devotion to Abelard, not to Heaven, 
which engaged her thought. It was many years before her 
heart was given to God. 

Later I visited the convent again with a photographer, and 
was shown, by Mr. Jules Provin, its owner, the subterranean 
passage through which Abelard used to make his secret en- 
trance, and the old worn stone staircase which his impatient 
feet trod. This passage, now partly walled up, to form a 
cellar, used to extend through to the Seine, which is only a 
short distance from the convent. Mr. Provin assured me that 



THE BATTLEFIELD OF LOVE 237 

Abelard made his entrance by boat, and showed me in the 
roof of the cellar a hook, which had probably served as an 
anchorage for tying the bark of Cupid. 

Mr. Provin did not seem to realize the fortune lying unused 
in his grasp. He desired to rent his property — for something 
less than four hundred dollars a year, but could not believe 
that by making its history known and turning it into a goal 
for tourists, charging a franc entrance fee, he would soon 
be independent for life. 

Argenteuil is only twenty minutes from Paris, and thou- 
sands of tourists would gladly journey thither and pay their 
franc, did the guide-books direct them to the old convent, 
where began that long martyrdom of Heloise, that terrible 
life of solitude and suffering for which she was so unfitted; 
that crucifixion of the passionate woman on the altar of the 
(for many years) indifferent recluse. 

Sixteen years afterward she wrote to Abelard, "I took the 
veil to obey you — not to please God." 

It was not from this convent that the immortal letters of 
Heloise were written. Just how long she remained at Ar- 
genteuil is not clearly defined. 

One historian tells us that the convent brought great scan- 
dal upon itself by the misconduct of some of its inmates, and 
that all were driven forth one night by an infuriated abbot. 
This might be the truth — for there is nothing more contagious 
than passion — and the example of Abelard and Heloise was 
more conducive to the propagation of human love than re- 
ligious fervor, and the age was one of license. 

Abelard himself speaks of Abbot Suger, the abbot of St. 
Denis, as responsible for the violent expulsion of the nuns 
with Heloise as their superior, and claims that it was wholly 
a matter relating to the rights of a property-holder, who un- 
duly put in force the law of eviction. At all events, Heloise 
and her sisters were subjected to great poverty and hardship 
for some time after the eviction — until Abelard came to the 
rescue and settled them in the Paraclet, at Nogent-sur-Seine, 
where Heloise lived as Mother Abbess until her death in 1164. 

It was from the Paraclet the famous letters of Heloise 



238 THE WORLDS AND I 

were written. There Abelard's body was brought after his 
death at the Priory of St. Marcel in 1142, and there Heloise 
was buried beside him twenty-two years later. No stone re- 
mains of the Paraclet; it was destroyed in 1800, and the tomb 
and its contents conveyed to Pere Lachaise. 

It is believed that Abelard and Heloise never met after 
she took the veil, save during the public ceremonies attending 
the dedication of the Paraclet to her service. 

Any other impression falls to the ground as improbable, 
after perusing the letters of Heloise written long years after 
she became a nun — letters which are reproaches for his ab- 
sence and silence, during all these years — and wild petitions 
for his favor and affection ; letters filled with burning mem- 
ories of a love that would not die — and with passionate pleas 
for some word of recognition from the man for whom she 
had sacrificed honor, name, liberty and the world, in the morn- 
ing of life. 

Abelard traveled and gave discourses at various periods 
after he took the monastic vows. 

Heloise wrote a book of rules for the women of the con- 
vents which was blessed by the court of Rome, and entered 
into the constitution of all the monasteries of the time. She 
was famed for her erudition and her wisdom during her era. 
But it is by her letters to Abelard that she is remembered, 
because those letters reveal the heart of a woman endowed 
with the rare quality of loving with absolute abandon, un- 
selfishness and loyalty, and of consecrating her life to the 
memory of that love. 

It proves how much greater is a lover than a philosopher, 
when we realize what a renowned man was Abelard in his 
day, yet how utterly he is forgotten save as the lover of 
Heloise. He was the first orator, the first philosopher, the 
first poet, and one of the first musicians of the twelfth cen- 
tury. He was so broad and so brilliant and so courageous in 
his ideas that he brought a revolution into the religious world 
and antagonized the entire tradition-bound clergy. He was 
persecuted in consequence, but his name grew in glory, and 
his school of philosophy, the first to teach the liberty of human 



THE BATTLEFIELD OF LOVE 239 

thought, could not accommodate his vast audience, and he was 
obliged to address them in the open air. 

It is no wonder that this man seemed to Heloise, then seven- 
teen years of age, a veritable god, or that she forgot the world 
in his love. And so great was that love, that it alone, of all 
Abelard's glory, is remembered to-day. 

Philosophies change : religions alter : creeds die : the minds 
of men are revolutionized on these subjects, but love 
lives on, and passion endures — the same yesterday, to-day, and 
forever in the human heart. Only he who loves is immortal. 

While history gives us almost detailed accounts of the 
lives of Abelard and Heloise, the utmost mystery and 
silence enshroud the child of this remarkable pair. We know 
that he was born in Brittany, at the home of Abelard* s sister, 
whither Heloise fled with her lover after her approaching 
maternity was known to her uncle. From that hour we have 
no data concerning the child until twenty years afterward, 
when Heloise writes to the Abbot of Cluny, "For the love 
of God and me, remember my son Astrolabius; if you can, 
procure him a living, from the Bishop of Rome, or some other 
prelate. ,, The Abbot answered: "For Astrolabius, whom I 
adopt because he is your son, be assured as soon as it is in 
my power I will do all I can to place him in some great church. 
For your sake my best endeavors will be exerted." Then a 
complete veil of oblivion drops over the fate of Astrolabius. 

ASTROLABIUS 

(The child of Abelard and Heloise.) 

I 

Wrenched from a passing comet in its flight, 
By that great force of two mad hearts aflame, 
A soul incarnate, back to earth you came, 
To glow like star-dust for a little night. 
Deep shadows hide you wholly from our sight ; 
The centuries leave nothing but your name, 
Tinged with the luster of a splendid shame, 
That blazed oblivion with rebellious light. 



240 THE WORLDS AND I 

The mighty passion that became your cause, 
Still burns its lengthening path across the years ; 
We feel its raptures, and we see its tears 
And ponder on its retributive laws. 
Time keeps that deathless story ever new ; 
Yet finds no answer, when we ask of you. 

II 

At Argenteuil I saw the lonely cell 

Where Heloise dreamed through her broken rest, 

That baby lips pulled at her undried breast. 

It needed but my woman's heart to tell 

Of those lonely vigils and the tears that fell 

When aching arms reached out in fruitless quest, 

As, after flight, wings brood an empty nest. 

(So well I know that sorrow, ah, so well.) 

Across the centuries there comes no sound 
Of that vast anguish; not one sigh or word 
Or echo of the mother loss has stirred 
The sea of silence, lasting and profound. 
Yet to each heart, that once has felt this grief, 
Sad Memory restores Time's missing leaf. 

Ill 

But what of you ? Who took the mother's place 
When sweet expanding love its object sought? 
Was there a voice to tell her tragic lot, 
And did you ever look upon her face ? 
Was yours a cloistered seeking after grace? 
Or in the flame of adolescent thought 
Were Abelard's departed passions caught 
To burn again in you and leave their trace? 

Conceived in nature's bold, primordial way 
(As in their revolutions, suns create), 
You came to earth, a soul immaculate, 
Baptized in fire, with some great part to play. 
What was that part, and wherefore hid from us, 
Immortal mystery, Astrolabius? 

The Greeks endeavored to defy the sexual impulse. The 
Christians have tried to crucify it. Ancient civilization gave 



THE BATTLEFIELD OF LOVE 241 

it full license ; modern civilizations have attempted to regulate 
it by law and to protect it by hygiene, and still the problem 
of the social evil remains unsolved. Still in every land the 
scarlet woman walks abroad, whether by the consent or in 
defiance of the law ; and still, despite all painstaking measures 
of prevention, the dreadful disease approaches closer and 
closer to the human family. 

By their religious rites and their art the Greeks seemed to 
regard sexual pleasure as the one object of life. In revolt 
against their excesses the early Christian Fathers strove to 
surround the procreative act with shame and ignominy. 
Woman, who had been raised to the pinnacle as a goddess of 
physical delight by the Greeks and Romans and worshiped 
for her carnal attributes, was cast into the dust by the fa- 
natical Christian Fathers, and regarded as Satan's emissary 
of evil. Great as was the woman's degradation in the tem- 
ples of Aphrodite, where she dedicated herself to sensual rites, 
still greater was the degradation into which she was flung by 
morbid Christian minds for centuries. The allegorical tale 
of Adam's fall was literally accepted; and the odium rested 
on woman. 

Into this reservoir of history time poured its diluting 
waters; yet from the sediment of that old source filtered 
down to our Puritan ancestors those mistaken ideas of 
modesty which caused them to cover the whole subject of sex 
with a mantle of silence, to stamp the poor coin of ignorance 
with the insignia of innocence. Even to this day, in most 
localities in America, it is considered indecent to refer to an 
approaching birth save in a whisper, and where the young 
cannot overhear. 

The outcome of this system of education, and its attendant 
rigorous laws, is one which must cause the old gods of 
Olympus to shake their sides in mirth. And with their laugh- 
ter must mingle the chuckles of the imps in Hades, as they 
listen to the statistics of the committee investigating White 
Slave conditions in America and as they look over the reports 
of health commissioners, and learn the awful facts of the 
spread of diseases too long regarded as "unmentionable." 



242 THE WORLDS AND I 

America has endeavored to make the ancient social evil a 
crime, and to eradicate it by punishment. The Old World 
has held it to be a necessary evil, discussed it as formally 
as the tariff, and regulated it by law and hygiene. Yet its 
problems remain unsolved. 

America has seen graft, robbery, black-mail, perjury and 
murder follow in the wake of its secret sin ; and it has come 
to the consciousness that silence can no longer be maintained 
regarding an evil which is sapping our national vitality, de- 
spoiling our womanhood and subjecting our country to the 
ridicule of the world. 

BUT WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO ABOUT IT ? 

France has long had its careful laws providing for the 
health and convenience of its devotees of Eros, yet can its 
men proclaim themselves free from acquired or inherited taint, 
and does the alarming sterility of its wives, as shown in re- 
cent birth statistics, speak of normal and robust womanhood? 

Two thousand years ago Carthage and Tunis, then among 
the great cities of the world, governed by pagan ideals, rec- 
ognized the hetserae as an important part of the population. 
To-day Carthage is no more ; but Tunis, with its two hundred 
thousand souls, devotes a certain portion of its streets to its 
licensed courtesans. The old slave market remains intact even 
to the rings in the walls, where less than seventy-five years 
ago slaves were exposed for sale and the young and handsome 
women were offered to the purveyors for harems of opulent 
citizens. 

Now the old slave market is used as an auction place for 
jewelry, and on special days one may see how little the moral 
sense of Tunis has changed with the change of laws. Here 
gather on auction days the modestly shrouded and carefully 
veiled slaves of the passions of men, their faces hidden save 
for the eyes, which invite bids for their favors, and wearing on 
the right hand the symbol of their calling. 

Here, too, may be found the Arab of all types and tribes 
and classes — the rich, the poor; the Bedouin, the Kabyl; 
each wearing the same impenetrable mask of indifference 



THE BATTLEFIELD OF LOVE 243 

which hides the Oriental mind so wholly from the most curi- 
ous eyes, and each with a flower in front of his ear. They 
show not the least interest in these modestly attired white 
bundles of sensuality, yet low words are exchanged, prices 
fixed, dates made, nevertheless. And the white bundles roll 
away, with the promise of the possession of a new necklace 
or anklet «r brow decoration. The Arab to-day finds a large 
harem expensive to maintain, but by inheritance, religious 
training and custom he considers many women necessary to 
his physical needs. Hence his presence in the old slave market 
with the flower in front of his ear. 

America is horrified with the knowledge of secret organi- 
zations of depraved men and women who procure girls and 
women for immoral houses. It is horrified to know that its 
trusted guardians of the nations morals are in collaboration 
with these procurers. Are the methods followed by all north- 
ern Africa, under the protection of France, better in these 
matters than our own? No two systems could be more dia- 
metrically opposed than these two. 

In America the fallen woman screens herself from public 
suspicion by every possible artifice; she goes about her ne- 
farious business with secrecy, and when the law discovers 
her she is driven from pillar to post like a mad dog in the 
streets. The emissaries of the law are her natural enemies, 
and by them she is either punished or blackmailed. 

In the office of the Commissioner of Registration in Tunis 
I was shown wall cabinets filled with neat cards, each bearing 
a number and a name and a small portrait. When a French 
girl wishes to pursue the oldest profession known to woman, 
she calls on the Commissioner, fills out one of these cards, 
affixes her photograph and promises to pay two francs fifty a 
week into the city coffer, and to place herself in the care of the 
physician who has this department in charge. 

Thenceforth she is quite free from any molestation from 
the authorities. For some reason (probably because few of 
them can write their names) the Arab Phrynes are not asked 
to make out a card ; all are numbered alphabetically, and each 
one is obliged to pay the same weekly toll and to pass the 



244 THE WORLDS AND I 

same weekly medical examination. Also each is expected to 
follow the custom of centuries among Arab women of her 
class, and wear a colored handkerchief wrapped about her 
right hand when she goes upon the street; for that is the in- 
signia of the Arab courtesan's calling. 

Invited by Dr. Gertrude Gordan, the remarkable young Rus- 
sian woman who has charge of the Asodiki Hospital in Tunis, 
I went to the clinic with her one morning when she was to give 
out the certificates of health to her fragile Oriental sisters. 
"There are nearly three hundred under my care, and there 
will be ninety this morning waiting for me," Dr. Gordan said ; 
"and you may find it interesting to study them at close range. 
I have had charge of this work fourteen years, and I can give 
you much information regarding the subject/' 

When I entered the long anteroom of the clinic, it seemed 
to me I must be looking on the participants in a Mardi Gras 
fete instead of a company of fallen women awaiting a medical 
verdict. 

Ninety women, ranging from the age of sixteen to sixty, 
and all costumed either picturesquely or fantastically, sat 
about the long corridor, which suggested the harem of some 
mighty ruler in the era of the "Arabian Nights" tales rather 
than a modern hospital. All were unveiled, and every type of 
Oriental beauty and ugliness was represented. All were pow- 
dered and painted, with kohl-tinted eyes and henna-stained 
finger tips, and nearly all were profusely decorated with tat- 
tooed emblems on cheek and brow and chin. 

As her number was called, each passed into the consulting- 
room, and quickly emerged, to proceed smiling and satisfied 
to the courtyard below, where she would be given her certificate 
of good health, which permitted her to proceed with her 
"business" unmolested for another week. On that morning, 
out of the ninety, only three unfortunates were pronounced 
tainted, and those three were immediately placed in the care of 
an officer, and conveyed to the department of the hospital 
where venereal diseases were treated. For, despite all precau- 
tions, these diseases are widespread here as in our own un- 
protecting land. 



THE BATTLEFIELD OF LOVE 245 

Down in the courtyard, after the examinations had been 
finished, Dr. Gordan led me where the scene defied descrip- 
tion. A boarding-school of gay young girls on a fete day 
never exhibited more joy of life than these Arabian courte- 
sans in the Moorish courtyard of Tunis, happy in the con- 
sciousness that they could go forth and sell themselves for a 
few francs to the first bidder. They sat in clusters on the 
tiled floor, adjusting their voluminous draperies, arranging 
their bracelets or anklets, chatting together in the peculiar 
guttural tones of the native tongue, while they waited their 
turn to pass into the office and deposit the weekly tax. 

Among the ninety, there were four distinctly beautiful faces 
—such faces as one associates with "A Thousand and One 
Nights/' Perhaps twenty-five were strikingly good looking, 
and the remainder passed down the line from indifferent to 
plain and positively ugly. 

A number were well past the middle-age mark, and all types 
were represented : Moors, Algerians, Tunisians, Ouled Nails, 
Jewesses, and strange-looking barbaric women from the in- 
terior with ugly wigs of some coarse fiber drawn low over the 
forehead, and their necks and breasts covered with innumera- 
ble necklaces and odd jewels — every jewel, necklace and anklet 
testifying to the wearer's success in her career, and worn as 
proudly as the scarred warrior wears his medals gained in 
battle. Dr. Gordan named the different tribes and types as 
they passed along or as they came to speak to her, asking 
questions or favors. All were evidently fond of the gentle 
physician, and many of them had been under her care for 
years. 

One girl, of perhaps twenty, showed me her multiplicity 
of tattoo decorations with great pride — two large chanticleers 
between the knee and hip, and flowers and mottoes on her 
breasts and arms, besides various "works of art" on her face. 

"Children are not often born to these women," the doctor 
said, "but when they are it is not difficult to find people who 
will adopt a child before its birth. Since slavery was done 
away with, the poor people and these women often sell un- 
born children to those who rear them for servants or who 



246 THE WORLDS AND I 

prepare the girls to be dancers. Among the Arabs, that mo- 
notonously licentious dance which is the unchanging diver- 
sion of all Arabs, as unalterable and unvaried as the burnous 
and the gandourah and foutah of their costumes, is taught to 
little girls of tender years." 

Five new faces among her patients caused Dr. Gordan to 
ask many questions. Before she began this questioning she 
said to me: "You will find every woman a divorced wife, 
and when I ask why she chose this immoral career as a pro- 
fession, each one will answer, It is written,* for they are all 
fatalists." And in fact each of the five responded in those 
exact words, and each was a wife rejected by her husband. 

It seems there is a strict law of the Koran that no Arabic 
damsel shall live an immoral life. Arabian girls are married 
so young, and kept in such seclusion previously, that one sel- 
dom goes astray; but should such a calamity occur, there is 
immediate scurrying to find a man who will marry her one 
day and divorce her the next, whereupon she is allowed to 
enlist herself among the hetaerae. It costs but a few francs 
to obtain a divorce in Tunis, and most men are willing to 
pay the price to preserve the sacred commandments of the 
Koran. Dr. Gordan apologized for the women, even while 
saying that they are indolent and without moral nature. 

"Divorce is so easily obtained here," she said, "and the 
Arab men are so fickle, and so easily alienated, that if a mother 
or a sister or other relative quarrels with a wife, or if the 
wife has no child or only girls, or if the man wants a new 
wife and cannot afford to keep the old one, he sends her home 
with all the jewelry he gave her at the wedding. Then what 
is she to do for a livelihood? She has been reared to believe 
that there is no work respectable for a woman save to cater 
to the tastes or passions or pleasures of men. If she cannot 
do this as a wife, she sees no other way save to go into the 
world-old profession. She has small ideas of herself spir- 
itually, and so she has no scruples of conscience to combat." 

The most beautiful member of the fallen ninety was a new- 
comer, and had been only one week in her profession. Her 
husband had divorced her because she bore him a girl child, 



THE BATTLEFIELD OF LOVE 247 

and she had gone home to her mother, a poor woman. Yes, 
she had tried to sew, but the prices were so poor and the work 
so hard she had found it impossible to make a living for her- 
self and child. So here she was, quite content with her situa- 
tion, for "It is written : c'est le destin." 

Afterward I went into the streets where these women live, 
and photographed a few of them. The beautiful debutante 
recognized me, and welcomed me like a friend. She asked 
us into her suite of two rooms opening off the narrow street, 
and showed us her wheezy little melodeon, her big unsanitary 
bed, her two tiny puppy comrades — all with an air of pride. 
Her patron or manager (a semi-retired professional herself) 
was most gracious also, and seemed delighted when we posed 
the "star boarder" for a picture, as did our guide, who, un- 
invited, placed herself well in the foreground. 

Not one of these women by look or manner showed that 
she regarded herself as unfortunate or her profession as 
shameful. 

When these women go upon the streets they are always 
veiled to the eyes, because that is the law of the Koran, and 
because they know all Arab men despise a woman with an 
unveiled face; but they are easily to be distinguished from 
the few respectable old women or servants who walk abroad 
by their bright foutahs and hose and fanciful shoes showing 
under the mountain of white haik, and, too, by the colored 
handkerchief wrapped about the right hand. 

As Dr. Gordan and I walked away from the clinic, the 
streets were lined with Arab men of all ages and classes, the 
very young and the old predominating, and many splendid in 
brilliant mantles and turbans and with a flower in the front 
of the ear — patrons and lovers, waiting for the big white bun- 
dles of licensed sin marked "Sanitary." Surely French law 
makes all things pleasant and convenient for social sinners. 

In Algiers we visited the streets of the women one Sunday 
morning. It was the finishing touch to an appalling picture of 
free licensed vice, so awful in its naked boldness and false 
gayety and lack of shame that it sent us away sick and melan- 
choly. Since converted thought is a mighty dynamic power, 



248 THE WORLDS AND I 

what terrible vibrations must go up from those congested 
centers of sin! Off from narrow untidy streets opened innu- 
merable little rooms, often beautiful with mosaic work and 
lovely tiling; and from the doors leaned flower-wreathed 
faces and artistically clad houris, smiling and bargaining with 
whomsoever might pause at the threshold. Next door and 
across the street were dance-halls, where fife and drum were 
making unmusical clamor, and in one a girl as beautiful as an 
artist's dream was rotating her abdomen in the national dance. 
A little French girl, seemingly no more than twelve, was mak- 
ing bold overtures to Arabs in burnouses and French soldiers 
in uniform. 

In Algiers there is less orthodoxy than in Tunis, and the 
laws of the Koran which make it a sin for a Mussulman or 
woman to affiliate amorously with a Christian are not ob- 
served, as in the White City set among the lakes. 

All was laughter, brilliant coloring, picturesque costuming, 
flower-wreathed faces, and unabashed sensuality. At the cor- 
ner of a street where the revel was at its height sat a nose- 
less woman begging. She was scarcely thirty, and not so 
long ago had been one of the popular favorites of these quar- 
ters. She had paid her penalty by the frightful scars of rav- 
aging disease. Yet the hundreds of licensed courtesans and 
their innumerable patrons passed her by, giving, seemingly, 
no heed to the awful warning sight. In her mind was there 
regret or remorse? Probably not; for doubtless she, too, be- 
lieves "It was written." 

Some of these courtesans, a small minority, having accu- 
mulated jewels and money, return to their native towns in the 
interior and marry. Not often does this happen, but it does 
happen. Just as among European races are men to be found 
who are glad to marry tainted money, however malodorous 
it may be, Arab men are to be found who will take the money 
and jewels of the Ouled Nail, even though he be to some 
measure declassed by his tribe afterward. 

From the Ouled Nail tribe a large harvest of courtesans 
is gathered, for the fathers not infrequently bring their daugh- 
ters to town for this purpose, and regard the profession as 



THE BATTLEFIELD OF LOVE 249 

quite legitimate. I talked with one of these girls at Biskra 
and she said her parents were satisfied with her career and 
she herself was content. She had been two years in the life, 
and should perhaps stay another two. And when she had 
money enough she would go home. I asked her if she had 
no fear of undesired maternity. 

"Oh, no," she said piously, lifting her eyes ; "the good God 
protects me." 

The week before we left Tunis a theatrical manager took 
two of those street girls and put them into training for lead- 
ing roles in a play about to be produced in the Arab theater. 
Their astonishing aptitude and quickness of perception caused 
him to predict a great success for them. So might thousands 
of them find successful careers in decent, self-supporting pro- 
fessions were it possible to shatter the prison walls of tradi- 
tion about them. But the Arab man has lost his prowess in 
the great world of affairs, and has found himself unable to 
cope with modern progress. He has just one domain of power 
left — his control of the women of his race. It will need 
a cataclysm and a new incarnation to make him relinquish 
this domain. 

France has established schools all over Algeria and Tunis. 
Little girls attend until they reach the veiling age; then they 
remain in the harem and use their manual training knowledge 
only in the home, and quickly forget their knowledge of any 
language but Arabic, for the men are opposed to their being 
able to converse with foreigners. Here and there in large 
cities where modern life has sounded loud alarm a man may 
be found who has broken away from old traditions. 

At the Excelsior Hotel, Algiers, we saw for the first time 
in a somewhat extended experience a man and woman in Ara- 
bian dress dining together at a table, and even entertaining a 
European man guest. The Oriental host was a Kabyl member 
of Parliament, but the Kabyles are as a rule opposed to having 
the women educated. A school we visited in the Kabyl Moun- 
tains contained 300 boys and not one girl. A merchant replied 
to our queries on the subject that it made women discon- 
tented and restless to be educated, and therefore it seemed 



250 THE WORLDS AND I 

wiser to keep them at home, ignorant and content. It is the 
law of the Koran, and not until a new master arises who can 
appeal more strongly to the Mussulman than Mohammed ap- 
pealed can we hope for much change to come to the Arab 
woman's life. She herself is not desirous of a change; but 
that does not mean that it should not come. 

In another Kabyl village we came upon a dancing school 
where three little girls, the youngest scarcely four, were being 
taught the Dance du Ventre. Already the little tots were 
expert in the indecent contortions of that sex dance, created 
thousands of years ago to stir the sated passions of old mon- 
archs, and to amuse dull women in crowded harems. Later 
on these little girls may be dancing in music halls, on tiled 
floors, in Moorish rooms opening off narrow untidy Streets- 
of-the- Women in Tunis or Algiers or Biskra; for what is 
there for them to do with their lives if the men they wed do 
not keep and protect them ? 

It is the same old industrial problem. And just what have 
our modern industrial system and our Christianity to offer 
in exchange for these fearful scenes of open vice and licensed 
sin? Between Algiers and Tunis and Biskra, on one side, 
and London and New York on the other, what is there to 
choose ? 

As a Theosophist, believing we are all making a spiral circle 
of lives toward perfection, I would unhesitatingly choose our 
own deplorable situation in America. However our civiliza- 
tion has failed in stemming the current of the social evil, it 
has at least produced a finer ideal of clean woman- 
hood and manhood than was evolved by any older civiliza- 
tion. Ancient Greece established schools for courtesans where 
seduction was taught as an art, and modern Tunis has only 
cheapened the same process under French law. The demi 
mondaine of France dominates most of the theaters and res- 
taurants of Paris and sets the fashions for the world. 

If our America is quite as depraved as any and all of these 
lands, it has at least not lost all shame, and where there is 
shame for having failed to live up to an ideal there is still 
hope of ultimate growth. It is only when placid acceptance 



THE BATTLEFIELD OF LOVE 251 

of evil exists or the bold exploitation of unwholesome condi- 
tions prevails that a land or a race is facing destruction. 

Such destruction came to Sodom and Gomorrah, to Baby- 
lon, Nineveh, Carthage and old Rome, because they had lost 
all shame. But while there is shame there is an ideal, and 
where there is an ideal there is hope. Paganism, Mohamme- 
danism, and Christianity have all failed to "bring a clean thing 
out of an unclean." 

But science, under the name of eugenics, has laid the foun- 
dation for a new race, which will in time inhabit our earth. 
Men are being taught the inevitable results of sex excesses, 
and the plain physical facts, supported by statistics and made 
as familiar to the young as simple fractions will do more to 
eradicate the social sin from the world, in generations to come, 
than all the religions and all the laws have done in the past. 



CHAPTER XVII 

High Lights on Places and Personalities Seen in 
Travel 

CASTING a retrospective glance over the years of travel 
in which we encompassed the earth almost twice, there 
are certain points which stand forth clearly, as mountain 
peaks shine in the distance when we look back from the deck 
of an outgoing ship, at a land we have left behind. 

In all the beauty and art and fascination of Japan, which 
held us in thrall for many weeks, the high light falls upon 
a sad sight — the women of the Yoshiwara district. 

There are five hundred and twenty-nine Protestant and 
many Roman Catholic churches in Japan : and in Tokio alone, 
the capital city of two million inhabitants, there are over 3,000 
Buddhist and Shinto temples of worship. Yet despite all this 
religious paraphernalia Japan has some difficult problems un- 
solved regarding the conditions of her women. 

There are good women, happy and well-cared-for women in 
Tokio. There are culture and progress to be met with every- 
where in the daily walks of life, and the women encountered 
casually and studied superficially seem happier and more con- 
tent than the women judged in the same casual manner in 
European or American capital cities. 

The streets of Tokio are orderly and quiet at night. Vice 
does not flaunt itself wantonly in the face of the belated 
pedestrian along the general thoroughfares, as in London or 
Paris, or any large American city. 

But there are 2,000 women who live in what is known as 
Yoshiwara district who are moral outcasts. They are under 
police and medical supervision, and their profession is as old 
as the world. They are all young ; and their ranks are contin- 
ually supplied by new recruits, when death, sickness, marriage 

252 



HIGH LIGHTS ON PLACES 2?3 

or reformation causes a vacancy to occur in the army of two 
thousand. 

The Yoshiwara girls have no disguise or pretense of any 
secondary occupation like the Geisha girls who are taught to 
sing and dance and amuse patrons of tea houses and other 
resorts. 

The Yoshiwaras are seldom seen during the day; they 
never leave their precinct save with police permission and 
supervision. But as soon as the evening comes, with its arti- 
ficial lights, they appear in their gilded cages like birds of gay 
plumage, and await their patrons. 

The houses in which these 2,000 "white slaves" live are 
veritable cages, with gilt bars in front, facing closely on the 
narrow streets. In the back, and above, are small private 
rooms. Each cage contains perhaps a score of girls, nearly 
all pretty, all appearing young and gay and smiling while 
coquetting with passers by. 

At the side of each cage, with his vile face thrust through 
a window, sits one who calls himself a man — a male creature 
who in American Coney Island parlance would be called a 
"barker," and who "employs" the occupants of his special 
cage, and receives a commission for their services. 

Probably nowhere else in the entire world has the segre- 
gation of women of immoral lives been systematized in such 
a manner as this,, and while it may, and unquestionably does, 
protect the city in general from promiscuous vice, yet it is an 
appalling sight to see 2,000 young girls dedicated to such a 
life; and scarcely less appalling to think of the despicable 
class of men created and sustained by this condition of things. 

It is stated that the Yoshiwaras* ranks are mainly supplied 
by parents of extreme poverty who induce their daughters to 
enter this life rather than face the desperate outlook of the 
poor in Japan. 

It may be urged that there is always honest work to be 
found by women in any part of the world. But here is what 
Dr. Kuwada, a philanthropist in Japan, has to say on the sub- 
ject of working girls in his land. 

Dr. Kuwada, a Member of the House of Peers, has given 



254 THE WORLDS AND I 

deeply sympathetic attention to the labor question in this coun- 
try, and has also spent several years in Europe, studying its 
social problems. Discussing in the Shin Koran, a Tokio 
monthly, the condition of the female laborers in Japan, he 
says: 

"There are in Japan about ten thousand factories and work- 
shops, employing about a million laborers. Of this total about 
seven hundred thousand are females. As there is no law 
limiting the age of factory hands, almost ten per cent of the 
female laborers are under fourteen years. 

"Twenty per cent of the girls employed in the match fac- 
tories, and one per cent of those in the glass and tobacco fac- 
tories, are even under ten years of age. We have adopted 
compulsory education, but how are we to enforce it in the 
absence of any legislation which forbids the employment of 
children in workshops and factories? The adoption of a labor 
law has been talked about more than once during the past 
several years, but the attempt has been nipped in the bud by 
the strenuous objection offered by a class of capitalists." 

Dr. Kuwada tells us heartrending stories of how the army 
of 700,000 working girls has been recruited. At first, we are 
told, the employers hunted the daughters of poor people living 
in large cities, but as the supply from this source was soon ex- 
hausted, they turned to rural districts for a fresh supply. 
The agents of factory owners go into the country and per- 
suade unsophisticated farmers to send their daughters to the 
factories, explaining what a fine opportunity the girls will 
have to acquire refinement and culture in the large cities, and 
telling what beautiful things and interesting places there 
are in the city, all of which factory girls are free to see and 
visit on Sundays. 

The good, credulous men of the hamlet and village readily 
believe the cunning agents and allow their daughters to go, 
only to see them come home, after four or five years, broken in 
health and spoiled in character, if, indeed, they do not die 
before their term expires. 

The treatment accorded to these girls is an outrage. Says 
Dr. Kuwada: 



HIGH LIGHTS ON PLACES 255 

"In some factories it is no secret that the time keepers are 
instructed to resort to trickery, so that their employees are 
made to work overtime without receiving any extra pay. In 
many factories the girls are not even allowed time for meals, 
but are required to eat while working. Almost all cotton- 
spinning factories keep their looms in operation day and night. 
Night work, in which both male and female operatives are 
engaged together, is found most demoralizing. The methods 
of punishment are equally inhumane. 

"The lash is employed without stint; sometimes girls are 
imprisoned in dark rooms, or required to work with reduced 
rations; in many cases their wages are so reduced by 'fines' 
that they leave the factory penniless at the end of their con- 
tract terms." 

Surely Japan has a large problem to solve regarding her 
women ! 

THOUGHTS ON LEAVING JAPAN 

A changing medley of insistent sounds, 
Like broken airs played on a samisen, 
Pursues me, as the waves blot out the shore. 
The trot of wooden heels ; the warning cry 
Of patient runners; laughter and strange words 
Of children, children, children everywhere: 
The clap of reverent hands before some shrine ; 
And over all the haunting temple bells, 
Waking, in silent chambers of the soul, 
Dim memories of long- forgotten lives. 

But oh ! the sorrow of the undertone ; 
The wail of hopeless weeping in the dawn 
From lips that smiled through gilded bars at night. 

Brave little people of large aims, you bow 
Too often and too low before the Past; 
You sit too long in worship of the dead. 
Yet have you risen, open-eyed, to greet 
The great material Present. Now salute 
The greater Future, blazing its bold trail 
Through old traditions. Leave your dead to sleep 
In quiet peace with God. Let your concern 
Be with the living, and the yet unborn ; 



256 THE WORLDS AND I 

Bestow on them your thoughts, and waste no time 
In costly honors to insensate dust. 
Unlock the doors of usefulness, and lead 
Your lovely daughters forth to larger fields, 
Away from jungles of the ancient sin. 

For oh ! the sorrow of that undertone, 
The wail of hopeless weeping in the dawn 
From lips that smiled through gilded bars at night. 

Perhaps our most interesting experience in Japan was the 
visit to Kamakura. In Kamakura, a few miles out from 
Yokohama, stands one of the world's art wonders, the bronze 
statue of "Diabutsu" — The Great Buddha. The statue is 
forty-nine feet in height and represents Buddha sitting in 
contemplation in a sacred grove. Thousands of copies of this 
famous statue are to be bought in wood, bronze and photo- 
graph form, but not one gives the least impression of its awe- 
inspiring beauty and indescribable grandeur. 

Coming suddenly upon the "Diabutsu" as the visitor must 
on passing through the outer gates, the effect is overwhelming. 
No matter what his faith, or lack of faith, or whether he is 
ignorant or wise in art lore, unless he is of the lowest type 
of development akin to the jelly fish, he who looks for the 
first time upon this colossal ideal of an ancient faith must be 
powerfully stirred. 

No artist or sculptor in all the centuries has succeeded in 
making a perfect representation of Christ — one which em- 
bodies love, compassion, wisdom, sympathy and the promise 
of immortality. Always there is lacking some quality that we 
feel existed in the Christ, some flaw in the perfect whole. 

But all that those oldest extant books of sacred wisdom, the 
Vedas, describe as the ecstatic state of "realization" which is 
the ultimate goal of man, and all that Buddha taught three 
hundred years before Christ regarding that state is expressed 
in the "Diabutsu." To look upon it is to know the meaning 
of that much misunderstood word "Nirvana" — not oblivion, 
not annihilation, but the serenity of attainment and the ecstasy 
of at-one-ment. 



HIGH LIGHTS ON PLACES 257 

To see this bronze marvel is to grasp the meaning of Christ 
when he said : "I and my Father are one." 

Nothing is known of the artist, but great must have been his 
faith and large his understanding to have produced work of 
such enduring magnetism. 

Kamakura was the capital of Japan from 1189 until several 
centuries later. The statue was erected during that period. 
An earthquake in 1455 and a tidal wave in 1526 destroyed 
the town, but while calamities wrecked the temples built over 
the "Diabutsu" the statue itself was unharmed and unshaken. 
Not so the great religion of which it is a symbol, for he who 
stands before the glorious figure and feels the full beauty of 
both turns to modern Japan and seeks in vain for any living 
expression of that faith, of that philosophy as taught by the 
Vedas, by Krishna, by Buddha. Conquest of the carnal self, 
meditation on, and persistent search for, the "God within" un- 
til absolute union with the Creative Power was attained — '■ 
these were the principal supports on which Buddhism in its 
simple purity rested. 

Buddha was an illumined soul and a wise man. He 
strongly disapproved of the worship of idols and of all be- 
liefs which led mankind away from the one method of sal- 
vation through self -conquest. Personal responsibility and 
character development were bone and sinew of his creed. 
But Buddhism as it exists in Japan to-day is idol worship, 
superstition, ignorance and mental indolence combined in a 
helpless and useless mixture. 

At the Buddhistic temple of "Kwannon" in Tokio may be 
seen any day thousands of the middle and lower class Japanese 
going through religious ceremonials which must bring sorrow 
to the soul of Buddha even in Nirvana, so utterly devoid are 
they of his spirit and so far away from his teachings. 

They are interesting, however, to a foreigner, and there is a 
certain pathos about the childish performance so seriously 
entered upon. At one side of the temple may be seen an old 
woman tossing a coin into a small aperture and then beating 
violently on a closed door; after which, believing her knock 
has gained the attention of the spirit god presiding over that 



258 THE WORLDS AND I 

department of the temple, she proceeds to utter a brief prayer. 

A little farther on three flat bells side by side are rung by 
means of ropes in order to attract other gods, and three more 
worshipers toss in their coins, make their petition and pass 
on. They jostle a man who is clapping his hands before a 
third shrine to attract the notice of the god he has chosen 
for some particular appeal. 

At the shrine of "Bindzum" there is always a crowd of 
men, women and children. This deity is supposed to cure all 
mortal maladies, but first he must be given a coin and then the 
ailing portion of the body must be touched upon the wooden 
image. The poor god, who is two hundred and sixty years 
old, is reduced to a mere misshapen piece of shining soiled 
wood. His features are worn flat, his fingers are gone, and 
his digestive apparatus is rubbed away to his spinal cord. 
And all day long, every day of every year, the throng sur- 
rounds this insensate chunk of wood. 

In every part of Japan there are such temples and shrines, 
called Buddhist, where the rank and file go to pray and woo 
favor from the gods. The priests who dwell in these temples, 
and live by means of the free-will offering of the people, com- 
bine fortune-telling with religion in order to eke out a com- 
fortable income. 

All this must grieve the spirit of the immortal Buddha. Yet 
the serenity of the glorious "Diabutsu" remains undisturbed. 

THE DIABUTSU 

Long have I searched cathedral, shrine and hall, 

To find an image from the hand of art 

That gave the full expression, not a part, 

Of that ecstatic peace which follows all 

Life's pain and passion. Strange it should befall 

That outer emblem of the inner heart 

Was waiting far beyond the great world's mart — 

Immortal answer to the mortal call. 

Unknown the artist ; vaguely known his creed ! 
But the bronze wonder of his work sufficed 
To lift me to the heights his faith had trod. 



HIGH LIGHTS ON PLACES 259 

For one rich moment, opulent indeed, 

I walked with Krishna, Buddha and the Christ, 

And felt the full serenity of God. 

Hong-Kong is a remarkable city. It is built on an island 
which was ceded to the English in 1841 and it now ranks 
third in the seaports of the world. It is a free port, which is 
a comfort to the traveler. It has a population of 320,0x50, of 
which 300,000 are Chinese and the rest Malaysian and Eng- 
lish. The fine residential part is called The Peak, a hill ris- 
ing 1,600 feet directly back of the business part of the city. 
This peak has terraced parks, superb residences and a steep 
cable road going straight to the top. 

At the palatial home of Mrs. Ho Tung I met four Chinese 
women of culture, one in European dress, two in lovely em- 
broidered coats and dark trousers with many valuable jewels 
in their hair. The father of one of them and the husband of 
another were present. The young man had been educated in 
England and held a fine position in a Hong-Kong college. 
The father in native dress wore a queue and was handsome 
and courtly. One woman spoke good English, one under- 
stood, and one talked not a word. The house was beautiful, 
and the situation imposing. 

Houseboat life in Canton and here on the river is amazing. 
These same sampan boats are not over forty feet long; some 
are still smaller. Out of Canton's four millions of Chinese 
there are one million and a half living in these things. From 
five to ten people sleep and eat and dwell in each boat, the 
men working in bigger boats or carrying chairs by day, and 
the women running the sampans and getting passengers or 
freight from larger ships. We went to and from our ship in 
a sampan. 

We heard there were only six American families in Hong- 
Kong, which seems remarkable, for Americans usually are 
everywhere. In 191 1 there were only three motor cars, two 
for hire and one owned by an American insurance agent. The 
coolies depend upon the chair business for a living, and would 
not allow any other means of locomotion to become general. 



260 THE WORLDS AND I 

The chairs are generally delightful when you are not in a 
hurry, and the way they are borne on the men's shoulders up 
steep heights is amazing. The fare for long distances is only 
ten cents. Rickshaws go faster, but can only be used on level 
roads. 

There is something pathetic in the position of the Eura- 
sians, the half-breed Chinese or Japanese. They are like 
mules, looked down upon by both donkey and horse. They 
are usually handsome and bright, but can never attain social 
honors no matter how exemplary and prosperous their lives. 
Back of this injustice, I suppose, lies a divine law whose 
breaking when races mix brings punishment on all concerned, 
except, I fancy, the daddies, who go free from any punish- 
ment in this incarnation. In the next they will probably be 
Eurasians themselves. 

There were no horses in Hong-Kong, at least so few that 
we never saw them, and it was a relief not to have to worry 
about them. I somehow could not worry about the human 
animals who carried us about as I would if they were horses. 
They were so glad to get their ten cents and a tip, and how- 
ever hard they work they go free after it is over, and are not 
abused by their employers. 

One evening we went to dinner at Government House. The 
night was glorious with a half moon, and our coolie men 
carried us up and up for fifteen minutes, each step revealing 
new beauties. Government House is half way up the peak; 
and you see the thousand lights above and the many thousand 
below. 

It is the general impression of all European and American 
residents of China not connected with evangelizing work that 
our Christian missions are failures so far as making real con- 
verts of the people is concerned. But it is also a matter of 
conviction with these same people that the work of the mis- 
sionaries is most valuable in its educational efforts, and par- 
ticularly in its helpfulness to women, in its giving them a 
new understanding of life, and the self-respect and self-reli- 
ance which leads to usefulness. 



HIGH LIGHTS ON PLACES 261 

In Canton, a city as large as Manhattan, the destroying of 
new-born female children is still of frequent occurrence. The 
bodies of these poor unfortunates are seen floating down the 
rivers, or found in the streets with other rubbish ; but just as, 
here and there in those crowded, narrow streets, a ray of sun- 
light sometimes falls, so, here and there, is an awakened mind 
made conscious of the right of every new-born child to live its 
life and die a natural death, irrespective of sex. 

And through missions, schools, convents, hospitals, there is 
flowing like a silver thread a clear stream of humane think- 
ing and human responsibility. It is the missionaries who 
have taught the Chinese women to sew, to take care of their 
bodies, to bathe, to learn to read and write, and to let girls 
live. Until the missionaries came only the royal people or a 
few progressive individuals educated their women. When 
I went to a convent here which has taken 17,000 abandoned 
girl babies in sixty years, educated, cared for them and found 
them positions or husbands, and when I saw the hundreds 
there now learning useful work and cleanly habits, and re- 
membered the awful city of Shanghai and the mobs in the 
streets of Canton, the missions seemed like divine institutions. 

It does not matter that the Chinese, cleansed though they 
are by this stream, are not enthusiastic believers of any spe- 
cial Christian creed or dogma ; it does not matter if they still 
cling to some of their old ideas and traditions and supersti- 
tions. The fact which is encouraging to the liberal-minded 
observer is that through the persistent and patient work of our 
teachers and helpers in the mission schools and hospitals, 
women are beginning to regard the torturing process of de- 
forming the feet of little girls as barbaric and a relic of a 
departed era ; motherhood is beginning to be understood in its 
full sacredness; the brain of the girl child is coming to be 
classed with that of her brother — a divine thing, capable of 
development — and the woman of this strange, half -awakened 
old race is coming into her rightful kingdom, slowly, but 
surely. 

Yet, oh, so slowly! 



262 THE WORLDS AND I 

Shanghai, built by the Europeans, is a neat, trim, comfort- 
able modern town; but the walled Chinese city, only twenty 
minutes away by rickshaws, is a place which beggars descrip- 
tion. We were accompanied by a guide who told us that we 
must leave our rickshaws outside. The streets were so 
narrow that we could only walk Indian fashion along the 
tiny pavements, the guide leading, I following and Robert in 
the rear. Even so well guarded, I felt for the first time in 
any foreign land a sense of fear. The people on the streets 
and in the shops which we passed made faces at us, yelled, 
pointed, and followed us about, passing comments which called 
forth loud laughter. Robert made apologies for them, say- 
ing that Chinamen have been treated as badly in America ; but 
I question if quite to this degree. Even toward their own 
women who appear on the street they are insulting. I had 
heard this statement made, but there I saw the fact. We had 
come from a temple, and a pretty girl in a pale blue coat was 
emerging with her mother or chaperone. We saw three well- 
dressed men jostle her and stare and laugh. In Shanghai the 
old Chinese idea prevails that no respectable woman should be 
seen upon the streets. We found the shops interesting and 
made several purchases, though the keepers acted as though 
they hated us, and would snatch the goods and curios away, 
if we hesitated about buying. 

We visited a remarkable tea house and crossed the bridge 
familiar to us in our willow pattern chinaware. Then we 
went to a quaint old Buddhist temple, where the woodwork 
was blackened with the incense smoke of ages. I said a prayer 
before Buddha, and the priest burnt joss for both of us, but 
the crowd of beggars pestered us to such an extent that we 
were glad to get away to our comfortable modern hotel in 
the common-place modern town of Shanghai. 

It was nine o'clock on a January evening when we found 
ourselves drifting out of the Hong-Kong harbor and up the 
river toward Canton. In all our travels nothing so weirdly 
mysterious is recalled by memory as that river scene — the 
queer boats mooring about us, the far lights on the aristocratic 



HIGH LIGHTS ON PLACES 263 

"Peak," the low lights of the dim, crowded shores on either 
side, and the perfect crescent of a new moon flat on its back 
above us. The sky above the horizon was a deep purple, and 
the path made by the young moon through it and across the 
river was unlike anything we had ever seen out of a picture. 
It seemed to be a path cut through deep water and silver- 
paved, leading into the Invisible Realms. 

After watching it until we were chilly and sleep-hungry, 
we found our funny little bunks and slept without waking 
until the boat anchored in Canton harbor, amid the shriek 
and din of the sampan boatmen and women waiting for car- 
goes and passengers. In one of these odd houseboats we went 
ashore, after the guide — named Ah Cum— engaged days in 
advance, met us on the ship. The sampan was not over forty 
feet long and only about ten feet of it were under cover; yet 
in this small craft lived a family of five, sleeping, eating, work- 
ing, being born and dying there, as do over one and a half 
million people. This phase of life in China seemed horrible 
beyond description to me, yet perhaps it is less horrible than 
the lives of thousands in the crowded streets of Canton, where 
two or three million people live so closely packed in together 
that a nimble-footed sprinter could walk from roof to roof 
for miles. 

Ten coolies and three sedan-chairs were engaged, and the 
guide and I set forth, each with three men as bearers, while 
my husband was given four, and then our day began. 

Such a day as it was! Such perilous paths we seemed to 
be carried through ; perilous because of the narrowness of the 
crowded streets and the innumerable corners and stairways 
and windings which our men encountered in taking us from 
shop to shop and temple to temple. We found ourselves ob- 
jects of excited curiosity to the street throng; but there was 
no such insolence and wild barbaric behavior as characterized 
the crowds in the streets of the walled city of Shanghai. 

We visited many shops and saw very beautiful and very 
wonderful things. Boys and men were making the cruelly 
beautiful feather jewelry from the bright plumage of slaugh- 
tered birds from Singapore. The infinitesimal particles of 



264 THE WORLDS AND I 

plumage were cut by small boys with a tiny knife and glued 
to the ring, pin or brooch. The boys work four years as ap- 
prentices without pay. After a few years of steady applica- 
tion, eyeglasses become a necessity. The work is done in 
shops on streets where the sun never penetrates. 

We saw men sawing apart a block of stone to deliver the 
pieces of imprisoned jade, and we saw bits of this jade made 
ready for setting in a ring valued at two hundred dollars. 

We visited temples and saw strange and hideous gods, and 
in one temple I prayed before some of them and burned joss 
and tossed down two pieces of stone to find out if my prayer 
would be answered; and the stones cried out "Yes" But a 
poor woman on a prayer rug at my side asked six times and 
got five negatives and only one affirmative. 

Our guide was most satisfactory and after taking us to 
see the famous old Water Clock, 1,400 years old, and after 
having Himself kodak me in a sedan-chair amidst a howling 
mob, we made again our perilous ascending, descending and 
winding journey back to the ship. Our ten coolies, for this 
strenuous and herculean day's task, asked sixty cents each, 
and our guide told us they had to pay twenty cents out of it 
for the chair hire. 

We took the same ship back, reaching Hong-Kong at noon 
and feeling that we had seen one of the wonderful sights of 
the world— a Chinese city of four million people living 
precisely as they must have lived centuries and centuries ago. 

From my husband's diary I quote the following: 

"It is ninety miles from Hong-Kong to Canton. It is a 
night's ride up the Pearl River and the steamers are good. 
It is well to write ahead for a guide to meet you at the steamer. 
Your guide is sure to be Ah Cum, as his family have had an 
iron-bound trust on Canton guiding for three generations; 
but they do it well and with seeming fairness. 

"Canton is twenty centuries old and has never been cleaned. 
It's all there. 

"It is the commercial capital of China and has a population 
of over two million people; they detest foreigners and will 
let you know it; they will all yell at you before you leave. To 



HIGH LIGHTS ON PLACES 265 

explore this human ant-hill of China is the experience of a 
lifetime. In all Canton there is not a wheeled vehicle, street 
car or hotel, or a person wearing European clothes. 

"The filth-smeared streets are so narrow you can reach out 
from your chair to the shops on either side and help yourself. 
The streets are so congested with hordes of human beings 
that your progress through them is an endless malediction. 
An oath yelled in tea-chest characters has a frightful sound. 

"The Cantonese impress you as great eaters. Braziers with 
stewing messes are everywhere. Every other store seems a 
market of some kind. Varnished pigs, ducks, dried fish, dogs 
and cats (with their heads on) and rat hams, tied with cute 
little wisps of straw, are all in full evidence and you wonder 
if you can ever eat again. Peddlers throng the street with 
large, live flopping fish in bamboo bowls and allow their cus- 
tomers to cut out the slices which they may desire. 

"We went to the famous Execution Grounds, a long narrow 
pottery yard in the center of the city, with fresh clay pots 
drying in the sun. Here over three hundred criminals are be- 
headed in a year. They had snicked off two heads the day 
before, and invited us to stay and see the decapitation of three 
the next day; but Herself thought our time too limited. The 
wife of the executioner brought out the terrible two-edged 
sword and showed us how it was handled. From her voluble 
explanation we thought she wanted us to kneel down so that 
she could show us how the trick was done; but we learned 
when we got away that she wanted to sell us the sword or a 
pickled head of one of the victims, of which they keep quite 
an assortment. 

"Hundreds of thousands of Cantonese live on junks, sam- 
pans, or gayly painted 'flower-boats/ where they are born, 
reared, married and die. Babies are tied to the deck by long 
cords and other children are allowed to romp about with a 
bamboo float fastened to them. 

"The 'flower-boats' are really the boats of dissipation — 
where women of wobbly morals live and where big gambling 
is done." 



CHAPTER XVIII 

On Historic Ground 

CISTER SUDDHAMMDARA alighted from her bullock 
^ cart and walked up to the door of "The Firs," under the 
stately palms and the blooming "rain trees," which spread their 
great branches over the path like giant umbrellas of flowered 
pink and green silk. 

Sister Suddhammdara was clothed in a saffron yellow robe 
thrown gracefully over her shoulder, leaving the right arm 
free; she carried a large palm leaf fan; she wore straw san- 
dals on her feet, and her head was closely shaven. Despite 
this most disfiguring custom, she was a comely woman. Had 
she been aureoled with woman's crowning physical glory, a 
head of fine hair, one could easily imagine her to be beautiful. 

The Singhalese women of Ceylon possess much beauty and, 
having been allowed freedom and education and association 
with their men folk for many generations, they are quicker 
of thought and more at their ease among the people of other 
races than the average women of the Orient. 

Sister Suddhammdara had come to pay her respects to us 
at our hotel in Kandy, Ceylon, a mutual friend having sent a 
letter of introduction, and to me she gave her hand in greet- 
ing, but to my husband she only bowed, clasping both hand^s 
together, and raising them to her brow. This is the usual 
Oriental manner of salutation, quite as expressive and less 
taxing than our eternal handshaking. It was after ten, and 
we had planned to visit the "Temple of the Tooth" with the 
nun as our guide and interpreter, but she explained that she 
must first go and partake of her one meal in the day, which 
she took at ii o'clock. 

This meal is preceded by a light breakfast of fruit or a 
cereal at seven in the morning. We persuaded the gentle sis- 

266 



ON HISTORIC GROUND 267 

ter to let us serve her a repast in our apartment and shortly 
she was provided with rice and curry and delicious papia, and 
vegetables, and a cup of coffee. She was, of course, a vege- 
tarian, not even using eggs in her diet, "unless," as she said 
naively, "they are accidentally broken. Then we feel we are 
not destroying life for the gratification of appetite." After 
this 1 1 o'clock repast the nuns eat nothing more until the next 
morning, but may take lemonade or other cooling beverages. 
Despite this frugal diet (or perhaps because of it) the sister 
had the appearance of perfect health and abundant vitality. 

We led her to talk of herself and to tell the story of her life. 
She was born of a Christian mother and grandmother, con- 
verted by missionaries of the Church of England. But her 
mother died when she was quite young, and the father, who 
had always clung to his faith in Lord Buddha, became blind. 
His little daughter read to him for five years during a part of 
every day from the Buddhistic books, and when the blind 
father passed on the daughter decided to become a nun. Now 
she was quite happy in her school for poor orphan girls. Be- 
sides which she had in connection with her school a Home for 
Aged Nuns, an endowment from Lady Blake, the wife of 
Ceylon's most beloved ex-Governor. 

"My bullock and my cart are gifts from this same friend," 
she said, "and this has enabled me to do much good in get- 
ting about among my people." 

We asked her what she taught the children. We were curi- 
ous to know how a Buddhistic school differed from European 
and American institutions. First of all she told us the chil- 
dren were taught the great precepts of Buddha : right thought, 
right speech, right conduct; to abstain from taking life, from 
stealing, lying, slander, abuse, or unprofitable conversation. 
Right mindedness and contemplation in order to attain tran- 
quillity were included in the curriculum. They were given 
verses for chanting, inculcating these ideas. Then they were 
taught to pray to Buddha and the four great archangels, who 
are ever ready, so the Sister believes, to help aspiring mortals 
seeking for perfection. She told me their names — Datara- 
see, Verupa, Verupakse and wise Seravana. 



268 THE WORLDS AND I 

Flowers are offered daily on the shrine of Buddha, because 
flowers typify sweet, pure thoughts. Before offering flowers 
or prayers, the Buddhist must bathe his hands and face and 
rinse his mouth, and leave his shoes at the door of the temple. 
Twice each day must the entire body be bathed. 

The children are taught to reverence their parents, to ap- 
preciate the hardships which parents endure and to offer 
prayers for them. The noble virtues which produce lovable 
characters are dwelt upon, and the children are urged to de- 
velop these qualities in order to be worthy of loyal friendship 
and to be able to give such friendship. All the necessary 
characteristics which go into the making of good wives and 
mothers are taught the children — patience, amiability, cheer- 
fulness, humility, chastity, industry and love. All this seemed 
very beautiful to us as we listened, and we wished some of 
the same methods of instruction might be adopted by the 
Christian schools of Europe and America. 

One of the Buddhistic ideas we found very offensive, just 
as we have always found the same idea in orthodox Chris- 
tianity offensive. This is the idea that life on earth, in the 
body, is to be regarded as a misfortune, and that only in the 
spiritual state can happiness be found. I urged the good 
Sister Suddhammdara to introduce a little healthful New 
Thought and Theosophy into her curriculum, to tell her chil- 
dren that this life was a privilege; that it was one of the rooms 
in the Father's "House of Many Mansions," and that it was 
a joy to be one of the workers in this great mansion and to 
be endowed with power to make the room beautiful and the 
time passed in it happy. 

I told her that many modern and intelligent Christians had 
abandoned all those old ideas about earth being "a vale of 
tears" and mortals mere "worms of the sod"; that we knew 
we were Royal Princes and Princesses of God, and that we 
had dominion over material things, and could be well, suc- 
cessful, useful and happy if we chose to realize our Divine 
Inheritance. 

But the good nun, like a large majority of our good Chris- 



ON HISTORIC GROUND 269 

tians, could not at once come into an understanding of these 
ideas. 

We went down to the Temple of the Tooth, Sister Sudd- 
hammdara taking me in her bullock cart, assuring me as we 
drove along that we were to see many sacred relics in the 
temple even if the Sacred Tooth was not there. It had been 
burned, this tooth of Buddha, centuries ago by fanatics of 
opposing faiths, and a large piece of ivory like an elephant's 
tooth had been afterward substituted. This is hidden in a 
jeweled case within a glass shrine in the upper story of the 
old, old Temple. 

We found it surrounded with the heavily sweet f rangipani 
blossoms and by crowds of worshipers. The nun made way 
for herself and bade me follow, and happy and proud and 
grateful she seemed when I made obeisance three times, with 
both hands clasped and lifted to my brow, and when I said a 
little prayer and flung the frangipani blooms closer about 
the shrine. 

Most pleased was she when I told her I believed Buddha 
was one of the Great Avatars, one of the Divine Masters sent 
to help humanity; but, like my Christian friends, she was dis- 
appointed because I would not say I believed he was the 
only Avatar, the God of Creation Himself. 

Sister Suddhammdara expressed regret that a good many 
children in Kandy were attending Christian schools: "be- 
cause," she said, "they are not taught to respect their parents 
and their parents* ideas. They are made to regard the faith 
of their parents with contempt, and to ape European dress and 
manners. And many times this has produced great unhappi- 
ness in the homes of the Buddhists." 

Perhaps this letter written to a friend in New Orleans, 
while we were in Ceylon in 191 1, gives a more intimate de- 
scription of all that land meant to us than anything which can 
be written from memory or from note books : 

"We have seen a large chunk of the earth ; and we have de- 
cided that nowhere have we seen the equal in beauty and charm 



270 THE WORLDS AND I 

of Ceylon. And the very heart of this charm lies in Kandy, 
We stopped at 'The Firs/ a hotel on a cliff over a lake, sur- 
rounded by giant palms and other trees as large as our old oak, 
all covered with a pink flower like a thistle, but soft as a rose. 
Everybody called it a different name. Heavenly smells were 
everywhere, and beyond the lake those splendid mountain 
ranges. The hotel had wide balconies, where we sat and drank 
in all this beauty, and heard tropic birds make new music. 
It was like a dream, and hardly seemed real." 

The town is 1,700 feet above the sea, and the mornings and 
evenings were cool, but from 10 to 5 intensely hot. Robert 
was enchanted with it all, and wanted to begin at once to 
build a bungalow for winter use. If we were twenty years 
younger I should urge him to do so, as we could always rent 
it if we did not feel like taking a 20,000-mile trip to occupy 
it. I think this is the fifth bungalow Robert has planned for 
our winter use in the last five years: and certainly he finds 
a better location each time. Pasadena was the last, and 
Honolulu before that. We have a fairy, airy castle also in 
Biskra, and one on the Rhine. 

It was at 6 o'clock, on the morning of March 23rd, when 
we started on our motor trip from Colombo to Kandy. [A 
fine car, an experienced driver, a perfect morning, as beautiful 
as an opal, and scenery which was created by God's most 
skilled artists (both marine and landscape) made an environ- 
ment for us which could not fail to give happiness to any 
one not suffering from a hopeless sorrow, or a hopeless dis- 
position. Add to this combination of delights the companion- 
ship of the dearest one on earth, and you have conditions 
about as perfect as they are found on earth. I 

The drive was an unending panorama of interesting pic- 
tures. Ceylon is so thickly settled that its cities and villages 
overlap, and we seemed an endless time in getting out of the 
city limits, and finding real tropical country, with palm groves, 
fruit estates, tea and coffee and pepper and cocoa domains, 
and trees and flowers and vines growing in tropical luxuriance. 
These things were all revealed to us as we spun along and 
in between were the villages, the mud houses with the palm 



ON HISTORIC GROUND 271 

leaf roofs, and the people in their graceful native costumes; 
not as artistic as those of the Indians and Parsee people, yet 
similar; and all in bright colors, making splendid splashes of 
red and blue and yellow in the vivid green of the foliage. 
Finally we came to a rest house, where we stopped for break- 
fast; and there was a quaint and curious old well in the fore- 
ground, and a boy or girl drawing water, and a native ox-cart 
close by, all food for our camera. The sex of the people is 
difficult to decide in Ceylon at first glance, because the men 
wear skirts and long hair, which is done in a Psyche knot or 
Langtry coil, and a long circle comb which only little girls in 
the country used to wear. After you get the hang of Ceylon's 
customs you know the men by this comb, and unless they have 
a beard, that is about the only difference you see between the 
sexes in their street attire. 

It was about the same in Rangoon, and there the men wore 
a long, bright scarf about their heads, their hair coiled in the 
back, and when you saw one coming and just behind him a 
woman dressed quite the same, only without the scarf, but with 
a cigar half a foot long in her mouth, you were excusable for 
feeling bewildered about who was who. Well, after we left 
the rest house we entered the jungle — the real thing. A road 
has been cut for many years — a very good motor road — but 
on each side lie miles and miles of thick jungle, where, at 
night, all kinds of wild animals prowl about. 

At the end of many miles we came out of the jungle, to the 
place where the wonderful buried city of Anuradhapura lies, 
and where a portion of its marvelous ruins have been exca- 
vated. These ruins were far beyond our imagination, espe- 
cially the four great Dagobas, 303 feet in circumference and 
in height, and the four or five hundred granite posts, which 
cover a city block at least, and are the foundation of the 
Brazen Palace, built by King Dutugamunu, 300 years B.C. 
And there were beautifully carved door steps leading to a 
temple, curious with astronomical signs; and remains of great 
baths, luxurious as the baths of the Roman era. This city was 
in its prime about the same time as Pompeii, but it seemed to 
be more impressive even than the historic ruin. It occupied 



272 THE WORLDS AND I 

sixteen square miles, and now is overrun with a jungle growth 
of at least a thousand years. But everywhere you look you see 
granite or marble posts, pillars or slabs, peering out of the 
rank vegetation and from among the trees, and mounds and 
hills everywhere, showing that under them lie countless and 
priceless historic treasures. 

They lack money and men to be brought to light. What a 
delight it would be to have millions enough to use in unearth- 
ing these old things! 

A remarkable system of waterworks supplied this old city 
with water, and portions of it are still in use by the new city 
which has sprung up about the works of excavation. Wher- 
ever the jungle has been cleared away most impressive trees 
stand guard over the ruins, making great parks and gardens 
of stately beauty. 

We remained overnight at Anuradhapura, and took an early 
start the next morning. Our first stop was near I o'clock, at 
Dambulla, where there is a famous temple high in the rocks 
of the mountain, made before Christ, in the era of the King 
just mentioned. A drove of native boys surrounded our motor 
car at once ; all wanted to act as guides to the temple. Robert 
selected one and sternly told the others to go away, saying he 
should pay only one guide. They all smiled and ran along 
beside us, four in number. Halfway up the mountain, at the 
second pagoda, I made up my mind that I had gone far 
enough. The heat was unbelievable; so I sat down in the 
shade of the pagoda and a sympathetic tree, and the smallest 
of the guides, a little nude bronze Adonis of ten, remained 
with me. Robert proceeded with his three retainers. 

The small Adonis could not speak a word of English, but 
he did all he could to entertain me. He opened nut shells and 
picked flowers and climbed trees, and after a long time Robert 
came back with his retinue, hot and weary, but astonished at 
what he had seen in the way of old carven images in the Rock 
Temple, near the top of the mountain. Then he kodaked me 
with his retainers four, beside the pagoda, where I tried to 
pose the four bronze retainers and was snapped in the act. 
Then, of course, despite all resolutions, the four all had to be 



ON HISTORIC GROUND 273 

recompensed ; and we were glad to escape from an increasing 
crowd of importuners and fly away to Kandy through a few 
more miles of jungle. When we arrived, some hours later, 
hot and tired and dusty, it seemed to us we had attained 
Nirvana. 

Oh, the beauty of that charming spot and the relaxation of 
mind and body for five delightful days in that cliff hotel, 
"The Firs," above the lake, better known as the "Tank," be- 
cause supplied with water from the mountain artificially; a 
splendid piece of engineering done five hundred years ago, and 
now kept in perfect order by the British government. 

One morning we rose at dawn, and after coffee and toast 
we took two rickshaws, and rode for an hour and a half over 
what is known as Lady Horton's Drive, leading into Lady 
Gordon's and another drive — all named for the wives of the 
Governors, who improved the paths laid out by the old Ceylon 
Kings, and made them into splendid thoroughfares. We 
thought we had seen the most wonderful drives in the world : 
the Mount Diavolo drive in Jamaica; the Sorrento to Amalfi 
drive in Italy; the Sicilian road leading from the station to 
Taormina; but this drive in Ceylon surpassed them all. 
Mountain range after mountain range came into view, all 
with the glory of the dawn ; and every variety of tropical tree, 
vine and plant with here and there a beautiful bungalow of 
pleasing and picturesque architecture, half hidden in gorgeous 
gardens; with lakes in the valley below, and temples and 
shrines and brilliantly attired people moving to and fro. Part 
of the drive was through deep woods; here trees centuries 
old were whispering of other people and eras, vanished; and 
here we left our rickshaws and walked along together, wish- 
ing the hour would last interminably. 

The very first day in Kandy, we engaged a rickshaw man 
who proved to be a personage, one of those people with an 
individuality which takes hold of you and remains with you. 

He was slender as a young girl, thirty-three years old, with 
a sensitive, finely featured face, and a gentle voice. He did 
not weigh over one hundred and ten pounds at most, and it 
seemed a cruelty to sit in a rickshaw and let him drive me 



274 THE WORLDS AND I 

about town, and up steep hills, through a broiling sun. Yet 
he was eager for patrons, and assured me he could easily go 
twenty miles in a day. He spoke an excellent English, learned 
of an English gentleman, whose servant he was until he mar- 
ried and needed a more lucrative occupation. "Now I make 
from two and a half rupees to five a day ; a very good income 
for a man in my position," he said, "and I can take very good 
care of my wife and four little children." 

Five rupees is a dollar and sixty-six cents; and I tried to 
imagine any man in America being grateful for such payment 
for running ten and twenty miles a day, dragging a heavy 
load in tropical heat. But this man, Simon, wore no shoes or 
hose. I doubt if he ever owned a pair of either. He wore 
only a loin cloth and a thin cotton shirt, he never worried 
about coal for winter, and fruit and rice are cheap. Yet in 
spite of all that, the whole situation stirred my heart with 
sympathy. 

Simon was up every morning at six, he told me, and he 
went to bed at eleven at night. He was very proud of his 
three little sons and his one daughter. But his hours with 
them must have been brief, indeed. The happiest memory of 
all the happy ones in Kandy is Simon's face when I gave him 
a tip of five rupees after my drive at five o'clock in the after- 
noon, and told him to go home and spend the rest of the day 
with his family. He had already earned four rupees that day, 
and he had taken me up the steep mountain drive, and after- 
ward five miles to and from the Elephant's Bath, where we 
saw the monsters disport themselves in the river after work- 
ing hours. Gentle, refined, grateful-hearted Simon; I wonder 
how long he will be able to keep up his hard work. Yet I 
heard a tourist woman say: "How those rascally rickshaw 
men do rob one, don't they?" She had been asked to pay 
sixty-six cents for being hauled four miles. 

To enjoy fully historical scenes, I always want my intel- 
lectual interest supplemented by a romantic flavor. My 
husband supplied this for Tunis and Carthage by giving me 
"Salammbo" to read on the journey. All the way from Tunis 



ON HISTORIC GROUND 275 

to Carthage, as I rode along in the train, I was seeing with 
my mind's eye the young giant barbarian, Martho, — not as the 
warrior, but as the lover, — in his pursuit of Salammbo, daugh- 
ter of Hamilcar, and every step of the way, as we drove or 
walked about Carthage, I saw Salammbo making her exit, 
on her camel, guided by the high priest, as she went on that 
famous journey to Martho's camp to recover the veil of Janet 
which Martho had stolen for love of her. So it was Flau- 
bert's genius — rather than dry history alone — which vitalized 
Carthage for me. 

The excavated ruins of three cities, the Christian, the 
Roman, and the Punic Carthage — all fascinated us; the am- 
phitheater, the statues, the villas, the baths, while less impos- 
ing than those we had seen in Pompeii, Herculaneum, Taor- 
mina, Rome, or Syracuse, were even more impressive because 
of the wonderful history of the three periods of grandeur 
which Carthage enjoyed. And the Museum ! Never have I seen 
so alluring a place ! Never have I dreamed of such necklaces, 
jewels of Carthage, and curios as are those on exhibition, 
taken from the tombs and temples. 

My husband was most impressed by the statue of the Punic 
priestess — which was found lying over her tomb, ever so many 
feet below the surface. In her sarcophagus we saw the skull 
and a few bones and scattered ashes — all that remained of 
her beauty. We returned to Tunis in a magnificent environ- 
ment of golden clouds and amethyst mountains and deep, deep 
sapphire seas — a sight to remember forever. 

Another afternoon we visited Carthage and, wandering 
along among the old ruins, we observed a pretty villa project- 
ing out into the robin's egg blue sea. Our guide informed us 
it was the summer palace of Prince Kazabar Baredine, who 
had just married the daughter of the Bey, Princess Guchena. 
He said the Prince and Princess were probably absent and we 
might look about the grounds if we chose. Looking about 
the grounds, however, was not satisfying, and I asked the 
guide to gain permission from the attendant to enter the 
courtyard. What was my amazement to have the guide re- 
turn with the Prince himself, a handsome young Turk of 



276 THE WORLDS AND I 

twenty-five dressed in uniform, who made a low, Oriental bow 
and invited us to enter. My husband and the guide were only 
permitted to remain in the courtyard and an outer room per- 
taining to it while mine was the privilege to be asked inside to 
be shown the handsome house and to be presented to the pretty 
Princess Guchena, a lovely Arab girl of seventeen, and to the 
aunt of the Prince, a delicate and refined looking Turkish 
woman of middle age. 

Neither of the ladies spoke a word of English or French, 
but they seemed greatly interested in my call. My conversa- 
tion was, of course, entirely with the Prince. He was much 
interested in hearing about America. Like a large percentage 
of Oriental people, South America alone was known to him. 
He had heard of Buenos Aires and Venezuela, but he knew 
little or nothing of North America. New York, Boston, Chi- 
cago, California, were meaningless words to him. 

The Prince ordered coffee for the ladies and went out to see 
that it was served to my husband and the guide. I was left 
alone to sip my coffee and converse in sign language with the 
two ladies. Princess Guchena (the name means "a garden") 
was decorated with the Allah cross on brow, throat, cheeks 
and wrists, and another of these henna-made marks nestled 
in the deep dimple of her pretty chin. I touched the pretty 
dimple with my finger and smiled. She touched my chin in 
return with a questioning look, repeating this look with a little 
guttural sound in Arabic, which I interpreted to be a query of 
some kind. I nodded assent though I did not know to what ; 
then the Princess clapped her hands three times, whereupon 
she was surrounded by slaves small and great, of all colors 
from coal black to light tan color. One small mulatto girl was 
given her instructions. Disappearing from the room, she re- 
turned in a moment with the beauty box of the Arab Princess. 
I was conducted to a deep window seat and the Princess her- 
self began to decorate me with her henna brush. Both wrists, 
my throat, and my chin received the Allah cross mark. I 
declined further decorations, which caused the Princess to 
look disappointed. At this juncture the Prince entered and 
assured me it was a mark of great distinction for a woman to 



ON HISTORIC GROUND 277 

wear this insignia. The Princess was anxious to stain my 
fingers to the first joint with henna, but again I thanked her 
and declined. A swarm of attendants in the room and outside 
upon the balconies, peering through the windows, had watched 
the process with great interest. 

Finally I bowed myself out, feeling I had had one of the 
most interesting experiences of my life, and not realizing how 
long a time had passed since I left Robert in the outer court. 
I found him waiting in a state of great anxiety, imagining all 
sorts of Arabian Nights' tragedies. My henna marks, which I 
had imagined would wash off with the first bath, stubbornly 
remained for an entire week before they wore away. 

Until our last visit to Northern Africa in the winter of 
191 3 I had never heard of ancient Tiblis (nor of its modern 
name Announa). Yet it is one of the most interesting spots 
it was ever my privilege to behold. We set out from Hammam 
Meskoutine on a glorious morning with our little Arab guide, 
who spoke a very good French, to show us the way. We 
drove through scenery so rare and majestic, with such great 
vistas opening before us at every turn, that language being 
inadequate, we could only clasp hands and gaze in silence. 
The fields for miles and miles were, as Robert expressed it, 
"covered with God's Persian carpets." We thought we had 
seen flowers in other lands, but such flowers as we saw that day 
surpassed anything ever before beheld ! Gorgeous poppies, of 
vivid red, wild narcissus growing in golden opulence, and 
deep purple and pale lavender flowers, all mingled in one vast 
carpet for many acres. Olive trees, in great profusion, every- 
where, also many other species, making a beautiful blending 
of shaded greens. 

It was an hour's drive to Announa, where we left the car 
and began to follow our little Arab guide, who had accom- 
panied us from the hotel, over narrow, stony, winding paths, 
up and down hill, until we reached the first broken temple of 
the old Roman town. The gateway arch still stands just as 
it was found ; broken columns cover the earth, an altar is still 
visible and from the doorway one looks out upon the ruins of 



278 THE WORLDS AND I 

what were evidently four other temples, and upon acres of 
ground completely covered with remnants of houses. Upon 
hundreds of these stones are Latin inscriptions. There are 
artistic carvings and every indication that this was a town of 
wealth and prominence. Its situation was magnificent. Its 
principal driveway still remains in a good state of preserva- 
tion. 

Robert wandered all over the site of the old city and was 
more impressed than we had been with Pompeii. I covered 
about half the distance and then sat down on somebody's old 
doorstep and talked with the little guide. I took some pictures 
of my husband, and he of me, and then we both walked back 
over the hard and difficult road to the motor car. As we 
walked, an Arab shepherd in a field near by began playing on 
his reed pipe. We called to him and he came and followed us 
almost to the car, playing all the time, and went away happy 
with a few pennies. The guide asked us if we would like to 
see the Sheik's house on the way back. The Sheik we had 
seen at the hotel — a sumptuous Arab, dressed in great elegance, 
in silk burnous and white and gold draperies and large turban, 
going about in a white and gold motor car. He boarded 
at the hotel, albeit owning a large estate and a farm besides, 
and a big house, where he had twelve wives. We stopped at 
the door of his house and about fifty attendants came to ask 
our wishes, and finally it was agreed that I might enter and 
see the house, and still later it was said I might see some of the 
women. So two of the Sheik's sons conducted me through a 
ragged curtain, which hid the court-yard from the road, and 
then through that to another, where I saw three women at 
work in a large room piled high about the sides with queer- 
looking bags of a bright red color. One was a girl of eighteen 
years, who was presented to me as the Sheik's daughter. She 
was very pretty, pale of skin, with delicate features, and golden 
brown eyes. Her dress did not seem typically Arabian — a 
long white cotton garment, on straight lines, and a narrow 
red belt, and a colored kerchief about her head. No jewels 
were visible. Another woman sitting in the court, on a pile of 
cushions, was evidently one of the twelve wives. She was 



ON HISTORIC GROUND 279 

past her youth, dressed in gay colors, and wore much jewelry : 
she was painted in Arab fashion, white and red, with heavily 
marked brows. She shook hands with me, and seemed pleased 
to see me, but could not converse. Then I was taken up a flight 
of stairs and the young Arab unlocked a door and showed 
me into a large bed-room with many gay carpets and cushions 
and a large bed, and all the windows shrouded with orange 
silk curtains over lavender. He urged me to sit down and 
began to question me as to how the ladies of Tunis dressed, all 
of which he repeated to his sister (she not speaking French). 
Then he took me to see another room, darker and more se- 
cluded than the other, and urged me to sit down and take 
coffee. His brother and sister had not followed us, and I 
began to feel a bit nervous: when I refused coffee and 
said I must go he became quite persistent, and urged me 
not to hurry. I got out with some precipitancy, and assured 
him I must go, as my husband was waiting outside. I breathed 
a bit more freely when once in the motor car. The whole 
place seemed tawdry, squalid, unclean, unwholesome, and 
more nearly like a den of pirates than anything I had ever 
seen. When we got back to the hotel we saw the Sheik dining 
in state at the table. We were told he locked all his young 
wives in their rooms when he left the house, and carried the 
key in his pocket. 

In Emperdocle, Sicily, lived my little god-child, Ella Veron- 
ica. Little Ella was born in 1908, in Brooklyn, N. Y., where 
her parents had passed through great trouble and loss of chil- 
dren and money. It was my privilege to be of some mental 
and social aid to lovely Signora Veronica (the mother) at 
that time; but my efforts to obtain proper occupation for 
her and her refined, educated husband proved unavailing. So 
shortly after the birth of the little girl, named for me, they 
returned to Sicily, before I had seen my little god-child. 

We arrived in Emperdocle at three in the afternoon and 
found the parents and my namesake at the station. One glance 
showed us what an exquisite little being had been bearing my 
name for five years — a most beautiful Madonna-faced child, 



280 THE WORLDS AND I 

with light brown hair and eyes, and a fair complexion and per- 
fect features, and the sweetest possible manners. She was 
timid at first, but in a few hours she grew confiding and 
loved to be near us, listening gently while we talked a tongue 
which she did not understand. Her parents spoke a very good 
English, and her sweet sister, Minna, twelve years old, had 
not forgotten the language. We were entertained by her aunt 
and uncle, charming, cultured and wealthy Sicilians, speaking 
no language but Italian. 

Their home was beautiful; but the desolation of the little 
town of Emperdocle is beyond words. A mining center for 
sulphur, there is nothing but dust and deadly monotony in the 
town of fourteen thousand people — no newspaper or even a 
moving-picture show. No lady ever walks on the street there, 
because there is no place to go and nothing to see or do. Yet 
wealth is to be gained, through the sulphur mines, and so little 
Ella and her handsome, cultured family were domiciled there. 

All my limited knowledge of Italian was brought into play. 
I began sentences in Italian, continued in French, and finished 
in English. Ella's father and mother translated our conver- 
sation to the relatives and she told us what they said. It must 
have been a strenuous two days for them. 

Sunday we went by carriage to Girgenti, where in 500 B.C. 
stood great Akraba and a few centuries later Argentium. 
These cities were opulent and contained millions of inhabitants, 
magnificent temples and homes, and all the luxuries which 
wealth produces. But now only broken columns and a few 
portions of splendid temples, magnificently situated, remain. 

Girgenti is some two miles from the old site. It is built 
about the fort to which the people filed when the great city 
was taken by its enemies, and around this fort grew up the 
modern town, while the ancient scene of magnificence is only 
a desolate plain — dotted with picturesque ruins. 

A row of these ruins stands on a steep cliff which extends 
some miles, and in the days of its glory these temples and the 
glorious view beyond over the sea, and the great city of luxury 
in the background, must have made an imposing spectacle for 
every beholder. The architecture of the temples was exquisite, 



ON HISTORIC GROUND 281 

and the Temple of Concord, still in outline comparatively 
complete, stirs one like some rare piece of sculpture or paint- 
ing. It was all well worth the hard, hot, dusty ride. Two 
months after our return to America we received word of the 
death of Mrs. Veronica. 

One of our most gruesome experiences was a visit to the 
Catacombs at Palermo, where the skeletons of the dead, 
clothed in grave garments, stand in rows, their skulls grinning 
at each living observer. Some of them carry Bibles in their 
fleshless hands ; and occasionally a skull was seen bending over 
his book as if reading the holy words. 

It seemed incredible that so many different expressions could 
be seen in the faces of skulls ! 

It was an olden custom in Palermo to exhume the dead after 
a certain period of time allowed for decomposition of the flesh 
and to stand the skeletons upright in these Catacombs. The 
horrible and unsanitary custom fortunately has been done 
away with for many years. 

It was by sheer accident that we went to Herculaneum. 
Every one said it was not worth the trouble, yet we found it 
one of the most valuable experiences of our months of travel. 

Herculaneum is some six miles from Naples by trolley. It 
is buried eighty feet under the small modern town of Resina. 
Very little has been excavated, but the treasures recovered are 
amazing — such beautiful bronzes, magnificent marbles, price- 
less pictures, marvelous manuscripts! Still they have only 
picked a tiny hole into this beautiful old buried city, so trag- 
ically embalmed many, many centuries ago. 

Though Herculaneum was destroyed at the same time as 
Pompeii and lived under the same licentious influence, its relics 
show little of the vulgar immorality that marked Pompeiian 
discoveries. Yet Herculaneum left its "House of Julia" to 
speak of the Ancient Sin to posterity. In this house were 
found priceless treasures and money and jewels, proving that 
"Julia" was one of the last to flee. 

Herculaneum was buried under a mountain of lava, Pompeii 



282 THE WORLDS AND I 

under a mountain of ashes. After more than 1,800 years they 
were located by archeologists. It took one thousand dollars 
to do the same work of excavation in Herculaneum which one 
hundred dollars would do at Pompeii. The lava is like solid 
granite and had to be chipped away, piece by piece. 

It was a wonder to us when we went out and saw it to think 
that so much had been brought to light — the dozen houses 
perhaps, and gardens and fountains, whose beautiful works 
of art we had seen in the Naples Museum. Then we went 
ninety feet underground and saw the theater which was 
partly excavated, the seats, the stage, the orchestra. How they 
ever chipped away the solid lava and found so much is a mar- 
vel ; but, oh, what a glorious work it would be for a billionaire 
to put five thousand poor men to work there and unearth the 
other wealth of beauty and art which is buried under one hun- 
dred feet of lava! It would do more to educate the world 
than many libraries. 

ON SEEING "THE HOUSE OF JULIA" AT 
HERCULANEUM 

Not great Vesuvius, in all his ire, 
Nor all the centuries, could hide your shame. 
There is the little window where you came, 
With eyes that woke the demon of desire, 
And lips like rose leaves, fashioned out of fire ; 
And from the lava leaps the molten flame 
Of your old sins. The walls cry out your name — 
Your face seems rising from the funeral pyre. 

There must have dwelt, within your fated town 
Full many a virtuous dame, and noble wife 
Who made your beauty seem as star to sun ; 
How strange the centuries have handed down 
Your name, fair Julia, of immoral life, 
And left the others to oblivion. 



CHAPTER XIX 
Hawaiian Queens and the Sultan of Java 

IN the wonderful winters of travel I was privileged to enjoy 
with the man of my heart, none stands out more clearly 
than the winter of 1908, which we spent in Honolulu. 

We were fortunate in obtaining one of the Royal Hawaiian 
Hotel Bungalows, a tiny house of three rooms, hid in among 
tropical trees and shrubs, and only a three minutes' walk from 
Young's Hotel, where we dined (the Royal being closed that 
year). 

Our little bungalow was nearly all doors and windows ; four 
doors and seven windows, with a snug bay window, screened 
by lace curtains, which made a dream of a reading room nook 
for my husband. Absolute charm hung about the little toy 
house. In all the happy weeks that followed we never closed 
one of those seven windows or four doors; and we were put 
to sleep by the sighing of palms and the cry of tropical night 
birds, and wakened by a chorus of riotous day birds in the 
morning. 

Never in any other spot on earth had we found such utter 
freedom from obligations of all kinds and such absolute peace 
and serenity as in this darling little bungalow. 

We procured the assistance of a little toy Japanese maid, 
named Meekie, who performed many simple duties for me, 
while our Chinese boy, Ah Luie, we found a comfort and a de- 
light. (Ah Luie looked like a Chinese Apollo at that time. Yet 
two years later, when we passed through Honolulu again, he 
had grown ponderous and middle-aged.) 

Shortly after our arrival we met the then very notable per- 
son, Governor Cleghorn, who moved about among people with 
the air of one who belonged to a past era, as in truth he did. 
Governor Cleghorn, a Scotchman, had come to the Hawaiian 

283 



284 THE WORLDS AND I 

Islands in his early manhood, made a fortune, and married 
Like-Like, sister of the then King of the Hawaiian Islands. 
Their daughter, Princess Kaiulani, was heir apparent to the 
throne when the United States annexed Hawaii, and it ceased 
to be a monarchy. 

Kaiulani had been sent to Scotland and England to be edu- 
cated; and her father's entire life had been spent in the en- 
deavor to make his estate worthy of a future Queen. No 
King or Queen of Hawaii had ever lived in such a lordly place 
as this estate of Governor Cleghorn's (called Ainahau), which 
we visited on two occasions. It is a half hour's ride by trolley 
from Honolulu, on the seashore, and was at that time re- 
splendent with every beauty which Nature, assisted by wealth 
and good taste, could supply. We walked through the wide- 
spreading grounds under the shadow of lordly palms, where 
the childhood of Kaiulani was spent; tropical vines flowered 
there in audacious colors and flung bold arms about unresist- 
ing trees; and made a riot of strange blooms. Splendid pea- 
cocks swept down the spacious paths beside the handsome 
white-haired host, as he came to greet his guests; soft foun- 
tains played and refreshed the air with cooling sounds; and 
while the calendar declared the month was February, the 
weather was July. 

It was a superb scene; but over it rested the shadow of a 
great disappointment and a great sorrow. Kaiulani had been 
abroad at school when the annexation of the Islands took 
place. She was a young girl, brought up to think of herself 
as a future Queen, and the blow to her ambitions proved a 
death thrust. Speaking of his daughter, Governor Cleghorn 
said : "She died of rheumatism of the heart, a year after the 
annexation of Hawaii. It may really be said that she died of 
annexation. All interest in life had gone for her, with the 
passing of the monarchy." 

Everywhere were portraits and pictures of Kaiulani. She 
was beautiful, as are so many of these "daughters of a double 
race"; and no name is more revered in all the Hawaiian 
Islands than that of this young Princess who passed out in 
the morning of her life. As we walked down the long avenues, 



HAWAIIAN QUEENS AND THE SULTAN 285 

followed by the haughty peacocks who seemed to want proof 
that we were not loitering in the grounds, a penetrating melan- 
choly permeated the sunshine; and never did life speak more 
clearly to us of the transitory nature of happiness which is 
based on human ambitions. 

Later in the day we stood by the Royal Mausoleum where 
Princess Kaiulani lies entombed beside her mother and royal 
uncle, and we recalled the words of the Persian poet: 

"This, too, shall pass away." 

Robert Louis Stevenson had been a devoted friend of the 
little princess, and when she went away to Scotland he wrote 
these lines : 

"Forth from her land to mine she goes, 
The Island Maid, the Island Rose: 
Light of heart and bright of face 
The daughter of a double race. 
Her Islands here in southern sun 
Shall mourn their Kaiulani gone; 
And I in her dear Banyan shade 
Look vainly for my little maid. 
But our Scots Island far away 
Shall glitter with unwonted day; 
And cast for once their tempests by 
To smile in Kaiulani's €ye. ,, 

To these pretty lines Mr. Stevenson appended this exquisite 
bit of prose, more poetical than his poetry, as always was his 
prose : 

"Written in April to Kaiulani, in the April of her age, and 
at Waikiki within easy walk of Kaiulani's Banyan. When she 
comes to my land and her father's land and the rain beats upon 
the window (as I fear it will), let her look at this page; it 
will be like a weed, gathered and pressed at home, and she will 
remember her islands and the shadow of the mighty tree, and 
she will hear the peacock screaming in the dusk and the wind 
blowing in the palms, and she will think of her father sitting 
there alone. 

"Written in April, 1889." 



286 THE WORLDS AND I 

After we left Kaiulani's tomb and went back to our little 
bungalow, I wrote the following verses : 

KAIULANI 

Dreaming of thrones she grew from child to maid, 
While under royal palms soft fountains played. 
She saw herself in Time's appointed hour 
Ruling her kingdom by love's potent power, 
Her radiant youth imperially arrayed 
Where tropic suns were tempered by sweet shade, 
Protecting love her pleasant pathway laid, 
And there she dwelt, a Princess in her bower 
Dreaming of thrones. 

Marauding changes brutally invade 
Her Island home; and yet Time's hand is stayed. 
Her name has left the fragrance of a flower; 
And in the regal state that was her dower 
She sleeps in beauteous youth that cannot fade 
Dreaming of thrones. 

We afterward visited the Kaiulani School, and from a great 
collection of trinkets belonging to the Princess, I was given a 
crown of small shells which at first glance seemed to be formed 
of feathers — a valuable addition to my collection of curios. 

Another Hawaiian Princess we met socially, Princess David 
Kawaananakoa, whose husband was a nephew of the late 
King Kalaqua, and who therefore wou-ld have laid claims to 
possible queen consortship, had the monarchy continued. 
Princess David was astonishingly beautiful — the most perfect 
type of the half Hawaiian that can be conceived, Her mother, 
an exceedingly handsome full-blooded native woman, married 
a Scotch-Irish capitalist, Mr. Campbell, in the golden days of 
the monarchy; and this Princess and several very beautiful 
sisters were the result of the union. (One of the sisters was 
blonde as wheat.) Both the Princess and her mother (Mrs. 
Sam Parker, by her second marriage) were very fond of play- 
ing cards, and my husband had the pleasure of being invited 
to their games on several occasions. An interesting story was 



HAWAIIAN QUEENS AND THE SULTAN 287 

told me of this family. I cannot vouch for its truth, but I 
was assured it was a fact and I enjoyed believing it. 

The Princess' step-father, Mr. Sam Parker, was many times 
a millionaire and a man of great intellectual powers. Taking 
his step-daughters to California to be educated, he entered one 
of the prominent hotels in that State with his very handsome 
wife and daughters, intending to lunch there. The head 
waiter, not knowing who they were, and observing the very 
dark complexion of some of the strikingly handsome ladies in 
the party, stepped up to the millionaire and announced that 
colored people were not allowed in the dining-room. The 
party withdrew. In a few hours Mr. Parker returned and 
informed the head waiter that he had purchased the hotel and 
hereafter would bring his family there to lunch whenever he 
so desired. My informant added the statement that this hotel 
was, at that time, bringing a large income to the family. 

It was somewhat surprising during our first weeks in Hono- 
lulu, as we sat in the dining-room of Young's Hotel, to see a 
very blonde man enter with a very brown wife in full evening 
regalia and frequently accompanied by children of variegated 
colors, but we grew accustomed to this after a time. 

One day, through Governor Cleghorn, we were accorded an 
audience with the deposed Queen Liliuokalani. The Queen 
kept up a very royal attitude and never became democratic or 
easy of approach. We found her in her pretty house, set in a 
tropical garden, attended by her lady-in-waiting, and several 
little brown maids of honor. The Queen was an impressive- 
looking person, large, dignified, and unmistakably intellectual. 
Through her Polynesian beauty there was also a hint of the 
African somewhere back in her ancestry. She spoke with a 
quiet, dignified resentment of her dethronement, and believed 
absolutely in her right to rule. She was very gracious in her 
treatment of us and permitted me to read the lines of her 
beautifully shaped hand. In it were clearly shown her power- 
ful intellect, and the artistic talents which enabled her to be a 
fine musician and to compose the immortal "Aloha Ouie," 
whose poignant beauty has become known to the whole world. 
There, too, I saw the savage instinct which had made her insist 



288 THE WORLDS AND I 

on her right to decapitate the men who had created a revolution 
against her in case she remained a Queen under a protectorate. 
This, we understood, had been the real cause of her complete 
deposition by the United States. 

Some years before we went to Hawaii we had become in- 
terested in a protege of the King, who, at periodical times, 
made himself notorious through political intrigues and revolu- 
tion. The reason of our interest in the man was because of 
his name, Robert Wilcox. My husband used to open his 
morning paper and say to me : "Well, Ella, I see I am in prison 
this morning." One morning he found he had been sentenced 
to death, but this Hawaiian Robert Wilcox finally departed 
from earth through a natural death, several years before our 
visit. He had received, through the King, a military education 
in Italy, became an officer in the Italian army, and married an 
Italian countess who believed him to be of royal blood and 
straightway divorced him when she learned to the contrary. 
He then married a native woman who was called Princess 
Theresa. This Princess Theresa, hearing of our presence in 
Honolulu, became keenly interested in meeting another Rob- 
ert Wilcox, and so invited us to a native feast, a Luau. It 
was given on her husband's birthday, in honor of his memory, 
and there we met seventy-five natives of all ages and shades 
of color, and only two other fair-skinned guests. The feast 
was served at long, rough tables, the guests seated on benches. 
Big bowls of poi were placed before each of us, which we were 
expected to consume by the use of our fingers. This poi is the 
national dish of the South Seas, eaten at all times and in great 
quantities. We did not find it appetizing, but we managed to 
dispose of some of it. Other mysterious dishes were placed 
before us which we had to accept with faith and courtesy. 

After the feast there were music and dancing and, as a spe- 
cial favor, two formerly famous dancers gave us the Hula. 
It might have seemed quite a naughty dance had the women 
been younger and slenderer. In their day they must have 
been very attractive in the Oriental manner and in Oriental 
costumes. Just then they were simply rather good looking, 
heavy matrons, attired in the Hawaiian dress of that day 



HAWAIIAN QUEENS AND THE SULTAN 289 

(1908), which, in the States, we call a "Mother Hubbard." 

We went forth from the Luau, hung with leis on neck and 
hat — the native wreaths made of heavily fragrant flowers 
which are a part of every festival in Honolulu. Many pleas- 
ant courtesies were shown me that winter. The Kilohana Art 
League, which was the largest association of its kind in Hono- 
lulu, gave a reception for me. The feature of the evening was 
the presentation of a little poetical play of mine, entitled "Art 
vs. Cupid." The leading role was played by Mrs. Ethel 
Humphries, the wife of Dr. Frank Howard Humphries, the 
English doctor who had been the royal physician the last year 
of the monarchy, and who was shortly to return to a larger 
field in England. The Doctor himself, a fine actor, played the 
lover's role, and a pretty child, named Farrington, made an 
adorable Cupid. 

Then there were the usual dinners and luncheons, where I 
met the distinguished people of Honolulu, official and native, 
and there was a wonderful flower festival where the native 
Pau riders performed brilliant equestrian feats. 

But, happiest of all, were the leisurely saunterings to subur- 
ban resorts just by ourselves. We went out to Waikiki and 
enjoyed the surf riding, which we found novel and interesting, 
but not quite as exciting as we imagined it would be. Our 
jaunts included Wahiwa, Pearl Harbor, and several immense 
sugar plantations. Such happy days! 

Every morning we ate a delicious papia — next to the 
mango, the most perfect fruit on earth — in our little bunga- 
low, before going over to the hotel for a mid-day breakfast. 
Then the afternoon was given to sight-seeing until we grew 
tired and returned to our charming nook for a nap and a bath 
before dinner. After dinner we received a caller. This caller 
we called "Our Bungalow Cat." Cats instinctively knowing 
my interest in the feline race, almost invariably attach them- 
selves to me wherever I go. This Hawaiian cat had appeared 
the day after we entered the bungalow in a stage of imminent 
maternity. I fed her sumptuously and prepared a box for her 
on our veranda and hoped each morning to find it occupied by 
the cat family. Not until three days afterward did I see 



290 THE WORLDS AND I 

Madam Puss, who came back very hungry indeed and then 
stole away, evidently to her kittens, which I was unable to 
find, despite much Sherlock Holmes' detective work, for a 
period of three days. Then the caretaker of the vacant hotel 
found Madam Puss and her four kittens in the third story of 
the empty hotel, in a dark corner of the linen room. I brought 
her down and gave her wonderful luxury in a very quiet cor- 
ner of our bungalow, but after two or three more days she 
again disappeared and returned to the old quarters, carrying 
each kitten up the three flights of stairs by the back of its 
neck. Every morning she came for her breakfast and every 
night for her supper. Then late in the evening she made us a 
dinner call, rolling at our feet and purring to tell us how she 
appreciated our attentions. Before leaving Honolulu I had 
told, written and telephoned to several of my friends, asking 
for a home for each sturdy kitten. Two years later when I 
passed through Honolulu again on our trip around the world, 
we went up to our old bungalow and, finding the caretaker of 
the now open Hawaiian hotel, I inquired if my friends ever 
came for the kittens after my departure. "Great Heavens, 
Madam," ejaculated the man, "what trouble you did make me 1 
There were only four kittens and at least sixteen people came 
demanding a kitten after you left.'* 

Our leaving was a very spectacular affair, as is usually the 
case with visitors in Honolulu. Burton Holmes and Alex- 
ander Hume Ford had prepared some old-time sports at the 
dock for my edification. A small regiment of black native 
boys, attired in nature's costume, came, bringing long wreaths 
with which to decorate me, and then proceeded to make high 
dives from the top of the ship into the sea. Bands played, 
handkerchiefs and flowers waved, as regretfully we sailed 
away from Honolulu in the golden sunlight of a March day. 
The decks of the Manchuria were veritable flower shops. 
There were sixty-seven passengers that day and all were 
flower-wreathed. My own leis were mainly made of yellow 
flowers, my friends knowing my fondness for that color. Bur- 
ton Holmes had his moving-picture camera leveled at us and 
later displayed these pictures throughout the country. We 



HAWAIIAN QUEENS AND THE SULTAN 291 

happened always to be somewhere else when they were dis- 
played so we never saw ourselves as others saw us. 

That I should be presented to the Sultan of Java, Sultan 
Hamangkoeboewono VII in the city of Djokjakarta, at the 
Royal Palace of the Kraton, came about in this way. 

We had received letters of introduction from a high official 
to Captain Happy, a retired naval officer, living at Solokarta, 
who, upon the receipt of our letters, came at once to call upon 
my husband and me and to offer his services toward our en- 
tertainment. There are two Sultans of Java ; and great is the 
rivalry and animosity existing between the two. An old feud, 
dating back centuries between two brothers, keeps its smoul- 
dering fires smoking to this day. Each Sultan believes he is 
the only rightful heir to the throne and each speaks of the 
other with disdain. It was to the palace of the older Sultan 
that Captain Happy secured our admission during a great fes- 
tival and arranged to have us presented to His Royal Majesty 
in person. This particular reception was given at the Kraton 
in celebration of a ceremony of the previous morning, viz. : 
the circumcision of twenty-five sons, grandsons and nephews 
of the Sultan, performed in public in the court of the palace 
and witnessed by ten thousand people of both sexes. The re- 
ligion of Java is Mohammedan and this surgical ceremony has 
both a physical and spiritual significance and constitutes a 
consecration to the creed of Mahomet. It is followed by a 
formal ball and a festival lasting three days. The propitious 
time for the ceremony is decided by astrologers. 

It was on the second evening of the festival that we set forth 
with our naval officer in that state of gleeful expectancy 
which characterizes the American mind about to be enter- 
tained by novel sights and customs. In theory we despise os- 
tentatious courts ; in fact we love them as we love spectacular 
drama. Captain Happy had informed us that our presentation 
to the Sultan would take place at seven o'clock: and we ar- 
rived at the outer court of the Kraton five minutes before seven 
and proceeded through the shadows of great banyan trees to 
the inner court, among increasing numbers of retainers and 



2Q2 THE WORLDS AND I 

servants. The sudden night of the tropics had fallen and as 
we descended from the carriage to the place of waiting, a 
curious and weird picture was presented to our sight. Through 
the purple twilight and by the flickering flames of torches hun- 
dreds of retainers were moving about and as many more were 
sitting upon their haunches. All of these attendants were 
naked to the waist; clothed from hip to knee in the graceful 
sarong. Some of them wore peculiar caps, others the fez, oth- 
ers a curious comb set high upon the back of the head: anc 
each head-dress signified the position, nationality, or occupa 
tion of the wearer. 

A few moments after our arrival we were approached by 
a soldierly looking Japanese in officer's uniform; this prove( 
to be the Crown Prince, who had come to escort me to the 
presence of the Sultan. Followed by my husband and Cap 
tain Happy, we proceeded through the inner court to the re- 
ception hall of the Kraton. At the main entrance just inside 
the large hall the old Sultan of Java stood waiting to welcome 
his guests. He was dressed in military uniform and his per- 
sonality strongly resembled that of Bismarck, as seen in his 
portraits. He was, at that time (1911), seventy-two years of 
age, strong of face, gracious of manner, and with a direct 
gaze when shaking hands which always gives a visitor a sense 
of being welcome to his host. Immediately behind the Sultan 
crouched his personal servant, holding in both hands what was 
afterwards discovered to be the royal cuspidor. When the 
Sultan walked about the bearer-of-the-royal-cuspidor fol- 
lowed with bent knees and low bowed head, for no servitor of 
the Palace of the Sultan may walk upright in the presence of 
his Royal Master. 

The Crown Prince conducted me about the room, and pre- 
sented me to five of his sisters and the Crown Princess, who 
formed the receiving party. But instead of sitting together 
they occupied chairs at stated intervals about the large hall. 

Behind each Princess crouched two women servants, one 
holding the box of sweets and the betel nut, so popular in Java, 
and the other the cuspidor, for the betel nut necessitates the 
use of this unpleasant utensil, even as does the tobacco used by 



HAWAIIAN QUEENS AND THE SULTAN 293 

Javanese ladies to remove the stains of deep magenta which 
the betel nut produces. 

After having made the tour of the room I was seated near 
one of the exits and allowed to watch the arrivals of the native 
men and women of high caste, and the Dutch dignitaries and 
their wives and daughters. First of all, being a woman, I 
studied the costumes of the six princesses. Five of them wore 
a kaim (which is the royal sarong) of the same pattern, a 
pattern reserved for uyal princesses. It was soft brown in 
color, and composed of small squares the size of checkers. 
The kaim of the Crown Princess was in a different design. 
The hair of each was dressed in the same manner; brushed 
back from the brow and coiled low in the neck ; and all were 
splendid with jeweled pins and combs, and bracelets. The 
one touch of individuality was the coat of varying color and 
material. One was of velvet, a fabric much loved by ladies 
in the tropics, perhaps because it is expensive and unsuitable 
for general use, and others were of silk and satin in as many 
colors as there were princesses. 

Each princess carried a small fortune on her person in 
precious gems, and each was bare of foot. This is the law of 
the Sultan; no man or woman of native blood may appear in 
his august presence with covered feet, unless it be a son who 
has arrived at the distinction of wearing soldierly dress. 

The faces, necks, hands and feet of the royal ladies were 
powdered creamy white, and their amiable and agreeable coun- 
tenances might have been almost pretty but for the unattractive 
custom (which only recently has begun to decline) of black- 
ening the teeth. It is the distinguishing mark of the married 
man and woman. Now blackening the teeth does not mean 
merely to stain them black. It means to scrape off the precious 
enamel, paint them black, and then re-enamel them, which, 
once done, is done for ever, or for so long as the teeth last. 
It is said that the custom originated with an idea of making 
the dental adornments of the human face differ from those of 
the animal. Others say it was done to make sacrifice on the 
altar of marriage. As our eyes see beauty in pearly teeth, so 
the eye of the Javanese and Japanese of the olden time found 



294 THE WORLDS AND I 

beauty in these black pearls. To us it seemed a disfigurement. 

When the Crown Prince and the Princess smiled, which 
was often, and when they spoke their mouths were ugly black 
caverns. The attendants of the princesses (like all the innu- 
merable servants in and about the palace) were clothed only 
in the sarong, while in the hair, and on the arms of these spe- 
cial "slavies" shone jewels of the first water. 

The courts surrounding the palace were packed with hun- 
dreds of these half -bare attendants, and in still another portion 
of the great gardens, within sight and sound of the reception 
hall, were crowded hordes of concubines and children. These 
thousands of nude torsos, gleaming like bronze statues in the 
half lights, were a curious spectacle to the American eye. 

Later we saw the streets leading from the main court, lined 
on either side with little houses, occupied by the favorites of 
the Sultan. 

The old Sultan is said to be the father of eighty children, 
the eldest a man of fifty-seven, the youngest a child of three 
months. The Crown Prince is a son of the legal and official 
Sultana, for while true disciples of Mahomet, the sultans of 
Java do not recognize more than one wife as legitimate. How- 
ever, they legitimize and ennoble many favorite children of 
concubines. 

The Sultan of Solokarta has no children by his Sultana. He 
has made the son of one concubine heir apparent, yet it is a 
matter of great concern to him that he has no royal heir to the 
throne. 

The Crown Prince of Djokjakarta is the oldest son of the 
Sultana, herself a princess by birth. He is thirty-four years of 
age and has been married less than ten years ; but is the father 
of seventeen children. The Sultan educates his sons in Java- 
nese, Dutch and Malay, but refuses to have them taught other 
European languages or to allow them to travel in foreign 
lands. He is intensely jealous of the European countries, and 
does not wish his own to be contaminated by foreign manners 
or ideas. 

The younger and more progressive Sultan of Solokarta has 



HAWAIIAN QUEENS AND THE SULTAN 295 

sent three of his sons (by concubines) to be educated abroad. 
Yet he is less sociable with the Dutch residents than his rival. 

Our Sultan crossed the large reception hall and took his seat 
of state (a most simple one by the way) soon after we made 
our entrance, and there he remained until the march played 
by the European orchestra in the court announced the coming 
of the resident general, the official Dutch governor. Descend- 
ing from his chair, the Sultan met the resident at the door and 
conducted him to a seat on his left, the chair on his right being 
occupied by the Crown Prince. 

As soon as this ceremony had taken place, the weird, sad, 
fascinating music of the native gamelan orchestra gave the 
signal that the feature of the evening was about to begin. The 
dance of the Eastern performances has an historical basis ; and 
each step and gesture relates some event in a story of mingled 
romance and glory. It may be performed by a company of 
dancers, but this evening it was given by four of the younger 
princesses, all dressed in a costume reserved for such occa- 
sions, and all as exactly alike in appearance as four peas in a 
pod. 

Slim, tall young girls (as height goes in Java), they seemed 
to be not over seventeen years of age, and in their elegantly 
fantastic and rich costumes, with their powdered white faces 
and black hair and eyebrows and numerous jewels they were 
peculiarly attractive. They were not spoiled by blackened 
teeth. 

The young women made a most deliberate and stately en- 
trance. They were preceded and followed by two old duen- 
nas, withered dames who had taught generations of princesses 
this same dance. These royal ballet teachers were attired only 
in the sarong, fastened above the breast, and falling just below 
the knees. Their grizzled hair was plainly knotted, and they 
wore no jewels. It required some ten minutes for the dancers 
to reach the center of the hall, where they paused, each in her 
place, forming a square directly in the center of the room and 
in front of the Sultan and the resident. After a low obeisance 
was made the four duennas dropped upon the floor and 
squirmed (something after the combined manner of an inch 



296 THE WORLDS AND I 

worm and a crab) back to the main entrance. This movement 
was repeated eight times by the old dames, who brought four 
tables and four pistols and placed them beside the princesses, 
and then writhed back to a position immediately behind the 
dancers where they watched the performance as interestedly 
as if they had not seen it a thousand times. 

A shrill chorus of women's voices, nasal and penetrating, 
was the signal that the dance had begun, and for ten or fifteen 
minutes the graceful movements of the heads and arms of 
the slim young princesses, and the delicate manipulation of the 
scarf and the pretty little sliding step of the bare feet made 
a fascinating picture. It was all novel and full of charm. 

The remaining thirty-five minutes grew monotonous, for 
the dance has no variation save the shooting of the four pistols 
toward the end, a proceeding gone through without a single 
change of countenance by the princesses, and with no excite- 
ment save in the audience. 

The Sultan watched the performance with a polite show of 
interest, but one could not help thinking that in the course of 
his seventy-two years and with a family of eighty children, 
he must have seen this same exhibition too many times to be 
thrilled by it. 

Shortly before the entertainment began four young men 
between fifteen and twenty-two years of age, dressed in Java- 
nese costume of sarong and coat, and with little odd caps on 
their heads, came salaaming through the main entrance, and 
immediately dropped upon their haunches and hopped (lit- 
erally hoptoaded) their way to within a few feet of the prin- 
cesses, where they sat until the end of the entertainment. 

These were four younger sons of the Sultan, who were not 
yet permitted to wear uniform, and likewise not permitted 
to walk upright in the presence of royalty. Even in the pres- 
ence of the Crown Prince must they squat and hop when they 
need to move. 

The weird chant of women's nasal voices died away, the 
gamelan instruments changed their tuneless tune to a march 
movement, the four old duennas squirmed forward to the 
front and rear of the four princesses, arose and stood as erect 



HAWAIIAN QUEENS AND THE SULTAN 297 

as the young maidens. Away they all marched, princesses 
and duennas, and the royal dance was over. 

The Sultan and the Resident went away to sup together, and 
then something else happened to entertain the foreign eye. 

From a row of chairs on a platform a few steps below the 
reception hall and below the six older princesses who had 
received the guests came marching forward, led by the Crown 
Prince, sixteen more royal princesses, all dressed in kaims of 
exactly the same pattern as those worn by the six older sisters, 
and looking so much alike as they ranged themselves in chairs 
ready to be served with refreshments, that one felt it was an 
optical illusion or a trick of multiple mirrors. 

Each of the twenty-one princesses wore a wide comb heavily 
studded with diamonds just over her coil of black hair; each 
wore a large diamond butterfly in the middle of her coil; and 
each wore three little diamond flower pins on either side of 
her coil. Each sported diamond bracelets, above her elbow; 
and each was powdered to a creamy tint. But fifteen sets 
of teeth were pure white and six were jet black. 

Then as they sat there a curious thing was made evident. 
Every royal princess plainly exerted herself to hide her bare 
feet from view, by means of her tightly fitting sarong. 
Though they are born and bred to this custom, yet contact with 
the modern world, slight as this contact is, has rendered the 
princesses conscious of their bare feet. 

A sumptuous supper of European dishes was being served 
to the guests in the various side rooms and courts of the pal- 
ace; wine flowed, rich course succeeded rich course, and with 
something like fifteen thousand people in his train, all depend- 
ent upon his bounty, all consumers and no producers, save 
of more consumers, one felt that the royal host had been royal 
indeed to provide such a repast for his many guests. 

The princesses were served in the great reception hall, and 
a pretty feature of the occasion was the assistance of the 
Crown Prince, who helped them to cakes and cream and re- 
moved their plates with his own hands and laughed and 
chatted with them, meanwhile, as any other brother might do. 

We came away and left them there, the charming young 



298 THE WORLDS AND I 

prince with the almost handsome face, the twenty-one near- 
pretty princesses in their simple native costumes (which re- 
quire four months in the making, yet which by the casual 
glance may be mistaken for a bit of calico or cretonne), the 
squatting attendants with their two boxes behind each prin- 
cess, the hundreds of retainers and servants of servants, the 
scores of concubines, and the innumerable semi-royal chil- 
dren. As we looked back, the mass of half-nude bodies, the 
variety of strange head-dresses, the glitter of precious jewels, 
all produced a never-to-be-forgotten picture. We made our 
way to the outer court through a sudden tropical rain storm 
to the music of gamelans, and we found our carriage by the 
flare of torches. We drove away wondering how long this 
relic of a dying era would continue. 

It is the last act of the spectacular opera. Before another 
century the curtain will ring down — Java will be less pic- 
turesque^ — but will not the human race be benefited ? 

The ruins of Boro Boedor, the most magnificent monument 
Buddhism has ever erected, built in the eighth or ninth cen- 
tury in purely Buddhistic style, are the most remarkable of the 
many ancient relics that are to be found at Java. One has 
said of this : "There in the heart of the steaming tropics, in 
that summerland of the world below the equator, on an island 
where volcanoes cluster more thickly and vegetation is richer 
than in any other region of the globe, where earthquakes con- 
tinually rock and shatter, and where deluges descend during 
the rainy half of the year, remains nearly intact the temple of 
Boro Boedor, covering almost the same area as the Great 
Pyramid of Gizeh. 

"That solid pyramidal temple, rising in magnificent sculp- 
tured terraces, built without mortar or cement, without column 
or pillar or arch, is one of the surviving wonders of the 
world." 

During the time that Java was under the rule of the Eng- 
lish the temple was laid bare by removing the earth, which 
probably was heaped up against it by the last worshipers of 
Buddha in Java. 



HAWAIIAN QUEENS AND THE SULTAN 299 

Within the last few years, the wall that encloses the lowest 
terrace had also been divested of its cloak of stone, photo- 
graphed and then covered again in order to prevent subsidence. 

In addition to that wall, which also rests upon a terrace, it 
consists of two square lower terraces, and five galleries with 
balustrades, which, with the inside walls of the lower gallery, 
rise upon the others like an outer wall, on which again four 
terraces are erected, the three highest of which are circular. 

The images of the lower tiers represent the world of wishes ; 
those upon the upper terraces, the world of forms; and the 
unfinished image in the cupola, the world without forms, 
agreeing with the three stages for the obtaining of Nirvana. 

I went out one morning and wrote, at dawn — 

AT THE BORO BOEDOR 

Watching the dawn upon its turrets break 
(New beauties leaping to each ray of light), 
Methought I heard Christ calling (as one might 
Call to an older brother) : "Buddha, wake ! 
Come toil with me. From thy calm eyelids shake 
The dreams of ages; and behold the sight 
Of earth still sunk in ignorance and night. 
I took thy labor — now thy portion take. 

"Too vast the effort for one Avatar, 

My brave disciples are not overwise, 

Our kindred creeds they do not understand; 

My cross they worship, yet thy temples mar, 

Dear brother Buddha, from Nirvana rise, 

And let us work together, hand in hand." 



CHAPTER XX 
Marriage Customs and Polygamy 

TO meet four wedding processions in two hours is not an 
unusual experience at this season of the year in India. 
It happened to us. Two of the brides chanced to reach the 
Jaipur temple, where certain of the rites were to be performed, 
at the same time, and it was our good fortune to be passing 
the temple at that moment, also. 

The spectacle was brilliant. We had heard the shrill singing 
of the throngs of people as they approached, and we had seen 
their rainbow-hued garments from afar. A hundred — pos- 
sibly two hundred — people were in the first procession, men, 
women and children — mainly the last two. 

Marriage is a four or five days' process in India, and each 
day has its special features. This day brought the families and 
women and children friends of the bride and bridegroom to 
the temple, the bride leading the procession all curtained in 
her cart drawn by two white bullocks. We were told that we 
might wait and see her descend from her cart at the temple 
door, where a stalwart and handsome Hindoo, very much 
trimmed with gilt braid and wearing a great turban of splen- 
did yellow colors on his head, lifted down this tiny bride, 
just ten years old. 

He was the proud uncle : and when, on counsel of our guide, 
I approached and asked to meet the little lady of the bullock 
cart, it was he who granted gracious permission. 

A score of women and a dozen men crowded closely about 
us, the women peeping with one eye from under their brilliant 
saris and showing gorgeous necklaces and bracelets and nose- 
and ear-rings as they arranged their draperies with the evident 
intention of revealing their jewels. The little bride was so 
hidden by her cloth of gold wrappings that she seemed only a 

300 



MARRIAGE CUSTOMS AND POLYGAMY 301 

big bronze package on end, and she reached barely above my 
waistline as I stood beside her. 

A request to peep at her face was granted with much laugh- 
ter and good will by the relatives, and I stooped down and 
drew apart the cloth, stiff with gold embroidery, and saw a 
dear little brown face, classic as a cameo — a Greek nose, deli- 
cate mouth, white teeth and great dark eyes. 

Jewels gleamed in the nostrils, ears and upper lip, and the 
slender throat wore too many necklaces to be counted in so 
brief a moment. This bride was ten years old, and she was 
going home from the temple with her husband, an undeveloped 
lad of fourteen. 

The other bride waiting her turn at the temple door was 
just five years old and her husband eight. She would not con- 
summate her marriage for five years, possibly, though wives of 
eight and mothers of nine are found in India. 

Innumerable instances can be related by those who are in 
mission or medical work in India of little girls of seven and 
eight who are actual wives to husbands much older. 

The mania of the East Indian mother to marry her daughter 
young has become insanity. While the better and more edu- 
cated classes of men are awakened to the evils of this custom 
and wish to change it, the mothers bar the way. 

Should the eight-year-old husband of the five-year-old bride 
I saw at the temple door die to-morrow, the little wife would 
be forced by the traditions of her race to live a widow always 
and devote her life to praying for the dead husband's soul. 

The brief little hour of glory which the child wife enjoys 
during the wedding festivities is her one season of triumph. 
Never after the wedding feast is she permitted even to dine 
at her husband's table. The high caste Brahmin will assure 
you that it is because the Indian so reverences woman that he 
gives her such seclusion and privacy. It may be. Certainly 
the East Indian wife is more content with her lot than most 
American wives. 

Progress and the influence of Western ideas have caused a 
cessation of the old custom of "suttee," the burning of the 
widow on her husband's funeral pyre, but she is quite as abso- 



302 THE WORLDS AND I 

lutely sacrificed in many instances by the traditions of her 
race to-day, though the process is slower. Yet she seems to 
love her old customs and to fight against progress. 

In Bengal, the province which includes Calcutta, there is a 
marked change taking place in the minds of the cultivated 
classes regarding child-marriage, the seclusion of women and 
the position of widows. Yet when we realize that only one 
woman in one hundred in India can read or write, and that 
only one man in twelve is educated, it is easy to understand 
that the cultivated class is not sufficiently powerful to make a 
decided change in a thousand-year-old custom. 

The great city of Calcutta contains one ex- widow who de- 
voted her life from childhood to ripe womanhood to her dead 
husband's family. Then, four years ago, she created a scandal 
by the unheard-of act of eloping and marrying a second time. 
She climbed over a garden wall, and her lover awaited her on 
the outer side. She is a handsome and attractive young 
woman, and has further literally "astonished the natives" by 
ascending in an aeroplane, and (it is regretful to state) by 
smoking cigarettes ! She is regarded by the conservative peo- 
ple of Calcutta as a warning rather than an example, because 
it is declared that her new-found freedom has made her bold 
and destroyed her modesty. It is further stated by the tradi- 
tion-bound that the birth of two daughters and no son to this 
woman gives evidence that God does not bless her re-union to 
a second husband, albeit he is a descendant of one of the many 
royal branches of India. 

The orthodox people of India will insist upon saying that 
the child widows of their land live quite happily in their ex- 
alted ideals of devotion to the dead. Without doubt there are 
such cases, and it is impossible for the Western mind to grasp 
the Eastern view of life. 

One young girl who was widowed shortly after she was 
taken to her husband's home is to-day very unhappy, 
because her mother-in-law, a poor woman, sent her back to her 
wealthy parents to live. She was sent as a punishment 
and feels she is deprived of happiness here and hereafter in 
not being allowed to work as a slave for her dead husband's 



MARRIAGE CUSTOMS AND POLYGAMY 303 

mother. This is an absolute fact, and is not an isolated case. 
Centuries of superstition and time-honored traditions produce 
in certain idealistic temperaments such examples of hysterical 
devotion to a cause. But there is another side to the picture. 

An Indian doctor, deeply interested in his land and devoting 
his whole time and efforts towards the betterment of his race, 
told me there were 1,000 Indian widows under fourteen years 
of age living improper lives in Calcutta, and many others of a 
more mature age. 

With no outlook toward home, happiness, liberty, love or 
any of the things which make life for a woman worth living, 
can we wonder if many of these child widows fall by the way- 
side? 

Dr. K. Deva Shastri called in answer to one of our letters, 
and proved to be a young man of great mind and learning and 
one deeply interested in helping to regenerate India. 

Dr. Shastri is striving to obtain a public school system also, 
and Home Rule for India. Surely the hour has come when 
Home Rule should be given that land. 

One afternoon in Benares we went to the Monkey Temple 
and the Golden Temple and saw sacred bulls and cows, alive 
and in the flesh as well as represented in bronze, and we be- 
held people worshiping before innumerable phallic (linga) 
emblems, the worship of Siva, just as they did in the most 
primitive ages of the world. In fact, everything was phallic 
and linga; paper-weights and bric-a-brac were for sale at 
every step. 

The Monkey Temple proved to be very amusing. Hundreds 
of wild monkeys were visible, all seeming to enjoy their life 
of luxurious ease provided by a wealthy Rajah. They sat on 
window ledges, Toofs, stairs and in doorways, and leaped about 
asking for the nuts we bought to feed them. One mother 
monkey with twins was most human as she sat and nursed one 
of her babies with a look of sleepy pleasure on her face while 
the baby's hand patted her shoulder. 

The next morning we went to see the people bathe in the 
Ganges — a most impressive sight! We were rowed up the 



304 THE WORLDS AND I 

famed river in a queer boat, and for an hour watched the 
brilliantly colored throng of hundreds of people come and go, 
bathing and praying, outlined against the background of 
splendid mansions, for most of the great Rajahs of India have 
palaces on the Ganges where they come at certain seasons to 
bathe and worship. 

As we rowed by, we saw gruesome sights at the great burn- 
ing ghat where several bodies were being burned and others 
were awaiting cremation. People came from great distances, 
carrying their dead on their shoulders, to cast their ashes in 
the Ganges. We saw men raking over the cinders where a 
body had been burned and were told these cinders were made 
into a paste and used to smoke. The "holy men" of India are 
considered, they say, too holy to burn, and so they are put 
into the Ganges after death. We came very close to one of 
these bodies as we rowed back to the landing stairs. It was 
sewed in cloth and anchored midway in the river and three 
vultures were sitting on the breast, picking into it. 

As we walked up the stairs from the river, I spied a re- 
markable looking being in a long, dingy robe and turban, his 
face painted a deep saffron, with a bright red V in the fore- 
head. He wore a wonderful necklace made of wood, and I 
stopped him and, by the aid of the guide, managed to get pos- 
session of the ornament. The man was a "holy man" and said 
he could not sell anything for money but he would accept a 
gift of it. So he went away with four rupees and I went on, 
happy with my queer trinket. 

We dined with Dr. Shastri and four bright young men at 
his house the next night. It was an Indian dinner where all 
the food, even rice, was eaten with the fingers by the Indians, 
we only being given spoons and forks. The room was quaint, 
the house surrounded by great trees. The conversation was 
brilliant and instructive, and the evening was delightful. The 
next day Dr. Shastri took us to the village free school where 
we saw ten boys under eleven years of age, all married. 

It is interesting to look back over one's life and see how 
small events sometimes lead to great experiences. 



MARRIAGE CUSTOMS AND POLYGAMY 305 

One day, in a very large mail, a letter came to me in New 
York City from a stranger. It was an appealing letter and 
was written by a woman passing through the Garden of Geth- 
semane. 

It led to our acquaintance : and, strangely enough, our ac- 
quaintance had, in a circuitous manner, led this woman to 
India five years before my visit to that ancient and wonderful 
land. 

Now I found my friend, companion and teacher of English 
to the wife of a progressive Prince of large wealth and with 
ambitions to have his wife come out of Purdah — that is, give 
up the life of veils and seclusion, and become modern. 

The wife found it a penance, much preferring her native 
customs; but, like wives in India, she obeyed her husband. 
My friend wrote me a letter one day, telling me there was to be 
a Purdah Party; all the high caste women of Calcutta were 
to meet at a large reception, given in honor of Lady Hardinge, 
wife of the then Viceroy. I was invited; and here my friend 
assured me I would see the real beauty and the splendid dress- 
ing and the gorgeous jewels of the women of India. Heavy 
awnings protected the driveway from allowing any rude eye 
to gain one peep at the form or the veiled face of any woman 
as she approached the building where the reception was to 
be held. As my carriage arrived, and I stepped out and en- 
tered the covered passageway, I saw bundles of exquisite ma- 
terial perambulating along in front of me, and conjectured 
that fair forms might be within these bundles. Once in the 
reception room, my eyes were dazzled with the sights I beheld. 
Beautiful faces were everywhere; and such radiance of color 
and such artistic draping in garments it had never been my 
fortune to behold before this occasion. 

The oddest and rarest jewels, too, were to be seen: and 
though the old custom of wearing jewels in the nose is said 
to be passing, there were many classic noses so decorated in 
that room. My friend was at my side and said : "You will 
see many women here to-day who never before attended any 
gathering of people save family parties. You will notice their 
little timid and almost frightened air: and somehow it is 



306 THE WORLDS AND I 

sweeter to me than the air of the modern women of India 
who have come out of Purdah. I have grown to feel that the 
life of the higher class women of India is very beautiful in- 
deed. The little Princess whose companion I am is not nearly 
so happy since she came out of Purdah. One has to be long in 
India, and to get into the close family relations, and to study 
the minds of the women to be able to understand how happy 
and how sweet are their lives. It is impossible for a tourist 
or for a missionary, whose work lies in entirely different lines, 
to comprehend the real India ; the real inner lives of its women. 
Somehow it appeals to me more strongly than the hurly-burly 
life of the American woman of our 'best society/ " 

I could not dispute my friend, being only a tourist; but I 
felt as I watched these beautiful women in their picturesque 
attire and their gleaming jewels bundle away down the pas- 
sage to their tightly closed carriages, and roll off to their se- 
cluded homes, — I felt, I say, that I preferred my own life 
to theirs. My life, not my garments, however; for glancing 
in a mirror during the reception hours, I had been shocked 
at my utterly commonplace appearance, although I was clothed 
in one of New York's latest creations: but the artistic fash- 
ions of India, which never change, while centuries roll, had 
so pleased my eye, that my own costume seemed hateful in 
comparison. On another occasion I was invited to the home 
of a man of large wealth, occupying an enviable position 
in the intellectual world of Bombay. We had letters intro- 
ducing us from a Hindu Swami we had known in America. 
As soon as our letter was presented the receiver sent his motor 
car for us ; and at his home were gathered a number of notable 
men of letters. After a very interesting half hour all the men 
departed, while the host informed me that his wife and daugh- 
ters were waiting impatiently to meet me. "Of course you 
know it is the custom of India," he said, "that the women of 
the household do not come into the presence of any men save 
their husbands and sons; and even those they would not, as 
a rule, see in the presence of strange ladies. But my youngest 
son will, on this occasion, remain and act as interpreter: for 
my wife and daughters speak no English." 



MARRIAGE CUSTOMS AND POLYGAMY 307 

The youngest son was a big handsome youth of seventeen, 
speaking an excellent English; and with very modern ideas. 
His mother and two sisters came into the room like visions — 
beautiful and gentle and timid; and I talked with them through 
the young man. They passed their days in household duties, 
they said, and in sewing and embroidering; their religious 
devotions took much time. They sometimes drove out in 
a closed carriage, and at times called on friends and received 
calls — always veiled from the sight of the public. Only the 
very poor or the undesirable women of India as a rule disre- 
garded this custom, though they knew a modern idea was 
creeping in which caused some high caste women to come out 
of Purdah. They shrank from the thought of it, as we would 
shrink from the idea of walking abroad at high noon in even- 
ing dress. It seemed rude and vulgar to them. They were 
very happy in their sheltered lives, yet they understood how 
strange it must seem to me. The young man confessed that 
he believed in modern ideas regarding women ; and it was his 
intention to adopt them, he said, when he married. It was 
evident that he had to some extent adopted them already, or 
he would not have been single at seventeen. 

There was an atmosphere about that home and something 
about those sweet women that did not permit me to feel sorry 
for them. Happiness is, after all, a matter of one's point of 
view. 

I could not think a missionary was needed to convert these 
deeply religious women to a different creed : or to make them 
accept a life of fashionable dissipation, bridge, dancing, and 
extravagant dressing, motor riding and traveling about from 
resort to resort to find distraction (as do so many of our "best 
people") in place of the simple secluded lives they lead. 

I think I understood my friend's point of view partially 
when I went forth from that house in India. 

By one of those strokes of good luck which so frequently 
attended our travels, we arrived in Singapore just in time to 
be taken by the American consul to the Chitty temple, where 



308 THE WORLDS AND I 

the Hindu festival of Tanpaniene was in full swing. It occurs 
only once a year. 

The scene presented to our eyes fairly staggered us ; it was 
like living an Arabian Nights' tale, beautiful, barbaric, splen- 
did, horrible. There were ten thousand Hindus gathered 
there. The vast temple was ablaze with color and rilled with 
superb and hideous things — superb decorations and hideous 
gods. The "John Rockefeller, Junior," of the Temple and all 
his receiving committee were naked save for loin cloths of 
varying lengths and colors. They wore big diamond brace- 
lets and rings of priceless value and were handsome as bronze 
statues. One man, it was said, possessed a fortune of fifty 
million dollars. 

We saw ten thousand poor people fed there. It is the cus- 
tom at this festival. At the end of a vast hall a devout pro- 
cession was winding up a flight of stairs, bowing before the 
shrine of Vishnu, throwing ashes on their chests, making a 
cross of ashes on the brow and saying strange prayers. I fol- 
lowed and performed the same rites to the best of my ability. 
Weird and insistent music of two tones made its monotonous 
accompaniment to the ceremonies. The nude participants 
squatted on splendid rugs and were surrounded by a mute cir- 
cle of semi-naked devotees, sitting cross-legged. 

In the outer court a religious fanatic was doing penance 
for his sins and showing his scorn of the body by sticking 
knives and needles into breast, shoulder and face and letting 
others do the same for him. He was full of drugs and exalta- 
tion but looked like a dying man in torture. A weird chant 
was sung by the crowd about him ; some were fanning him, 
others were holding wreaths over him. It was an awful sight, 
yet we were assured by the consul and the harbor master, who 
had lived there many years, that the man would be about the 
next day showing no signs of this horrible experience. Robert 
pressed close to the scene and watched it closely for several 
minutes to convince himself that there was no legerdemain 
about it. He stood so close he could have touched the man, 
and came away convinced as well as sickened at the sight. 

This was the one night in the year when invited guests could 



MARRIAGE CUSTOMS AND POLYGAMY 309 

gaze on the sacred bulls in this temple. We were presented to 
six in all. I never dreamed that the worship of bulls really- 
existed to-day. I thought that only their pictures and images 
were kept in the temples, but here they were, beautiful crea- 
tures, all of them. One actually had an angelic face! They 
never do any labor, save once a year to drag the silver peacock, 
worth ten thousand dollars, through the streets. That was 
done the next night ; it rained so hard we did not go out among 
the throngs to see it. 

The Chitties are the Hindu money lenders of Singapore. 
They possess, great wealth and their temple is only open to 
the public once a year and entrance then is only by invitation. 
It was owing to the thoughtfulness of the charming American 
consul, Mr. Dubois, that we were permitted this interesting ex- 
perience. 

While we were fairly enthralled and taken out of ourselves 
by the barbaric scene, the magnificent coloring, the burning 
incense and the strange music, there was a sudden blare of 
sound and a modern band began playing the "Merry Widow" 
waltz. Young "Rockefeller, Junior/' desired to make the 
reception wholly up to date and had provided entertainment 
for foreign guests. It woke us rudely from our pipe dream, 
and we hurried home to our hotel. 

The Island of Singapore is twenty-seven miles long, four- 
teen miles wide and sixty-six miles in circumference. Between 
Singapore and the United States the time difference is twelve 
hours. While you breakfast here your friends are dining 
there. 

The very last day we were in Singapore we met with 
another piece of luck. We were driving to the Botanical 
Gardens and came across the funeral procession of a rich 
mandarin. We have seen Mardi Gras in almost every part 
of the earth, but never anything that could compare in startling 
and original features with this solemn religious ceremony. 
There was a column of people over a mile long; and some 
twenty immense, grotesque images, fully fifteen feet high, with 
faces of animals and demons, and enormous painted bodies 
moved by men hidden inside were walking in the procession. 



310 THE WORLDS AND I 

One statue was a mandarin, thirty feet tall. He was seated 
in a triumphal car and crowned with a golden coronet and 
toted by a lot of near-naked coolies. There was a line of 
Chinamen simply dressed in bracelets and scarfs and carry- 
ing splendid flags with many letters and designs. 

We were told by our driver that these were club men be- 
longing to the dead man's club and that the jewelry all be- 
longed to the deceased. There were carriages filled with 
women and children all dressed in white. They were the 
children and wives of the dead man. Other women, with a 
brownish costume and lips painted bright magenta, I imagined 
were concubines. The demons and animals often turned and 
glanced behind them and the effect was grotesque and awful. 

It seems that it is the custom for rich mandarins to leave 
a sum of money to pay for having this procession march to 
the cemetery on certain days for one or two months after their 
death. All the large images are made of paper and are burned 
at the cemetery as an offering to the gods to make things easy 
for the dead man in the spirit world. Other images are made 
to take their place for the next procession, so trade is helped 
and many people given work. 

Beautiful cabinets or shrines were carried on poles at in- 
tervals, and there was a small body of perhaps a dozen pig- 
faced and demon-faced pigmies who cut an occasional pigeon- 
wing as any small boy might do in a Fourth of July festival. 

Important events in one's life often become dim in memory, 
while lesser incidents stand forth clearly. 

A day in Salt Lake City, Utah, I have never forgotten, 
where I went out to see the remains of the Salt Sea, in com- 
pany with twenty-two women who had all been polygamous 
wives. 

One Elder accompanied the party ; and he had been, until the 
laws of the Government made polygamy unconstitutional, the 
happy husband of six wives. He talked to me freely of their 
ideals, and the deeply religious sentiment on which Mor- 
monism was founded. 

Polygamy, he said, was only adopted by the Mormons in 



MARRIAGE CUSTOMS AND POLYGAMY 311 

order to populate the community with latter-day Saints. The 
mistaken idea of the outside world that men took many wives 
from licentious or self-indulgent reasons, he deplored. It was 
a serious obligation, he said, for a man to assume the care 
and maintenance and spiritual growth of six families: but he 
had felt it incumbent upon him. 

He believed the polygamous wives were happier than most 
of the Gentile woman. Every day, he observed, the newspa- 
pers reported how some wife had discovered that her husband 
was living a double life, and the position of a mistress was 
far more deplorable, he thought, than that of a respected and 
well cared for polygamous wife. He believed women were 
meant for mothers; and the preponderance of spin- 
sters in many States he felt was a disaster to the race. He 
called my attention to the mental and physical superiority of 
Mormon children over those born in conventional society. 
This fact I could not deny. The care and protection given 
expectant mothers by the Mormons naturally produced more 
normal children than were to be found in any community of 
people outside, where the bearing of children is so frequently 
regarded as a calamity, and where efforts at prevention of 
Nature's most sacred office are prevalent. I assured the 
Elder I believed men in general had much to learn from 
the Mormons regarding the right view of fatherhood, and 
the obligation to protect and care for the expectant mother, 
but I could not regard the polygamous wife with any feeling, 
save one of pity. "I would rather," I said, "be a deceived 
wife, or the unfortunate affinity even, on whom the world 
looks askance, than accept the position of one of a syndicate 
owning stock in a husband." 

The Elder said there was a moral question involved, and 
I agreed with him, saying the moral question to my thinking 
was that the whole ideal of the relation of the sexes rested on 
the effort to establish the law of one man and one woman liv- 
ing together in constancy and affection ; and all the failures of 
this effort were better for the race than any lower ideal which 
encouraged promiscuous relations under any religious cloak. 

"Never till man learns the higher laws governing sexual 



312 THE WORLDS AND I 

love and the glory and growth which comes through self-con- 
trol, and the deeper emotions and joys which result from con- 
secration of the body to one love, will the race develop to the 
plane God meant it to reach. Better fail over and over in 
trying to live up to these laws, than to settle down to self- 
indulgence, believing such indulgence is God's will," I said. 

The Elder grieved that I could not grasp the higher meaning 
of polygamy, and ceased to argue the question. 

The youngest and handsomest woman in the company was 
the one wife which the Elder was permitted to proclaim at 
that time. 

"Yes," she said to me, "I am, or was, a polygamous wife; 
do I look like an unhappy woman? My husband had four 
other wives when he took me." 

"Were you the last of all?" I asked. 

A slight shadow passed over her face. "No," she said, 
"there was one after me; she died, and when the law declared 
only one wife could be recognized, I was chosen. My hus- 
band cares for the two others who are living, and provides 
for them. They are past child-bearing age." 

"Do you mean to tell me," I asked, "that you felt no sorrow 
or jealousy or pain when your husband brought the last wife 
home?" 

"We are not here on earth to be selfishly happy," was her 
evasive reply. "We are here to live for the good of the human 
race. I believed my husband was doing God's duty by taking 
another wife who could bear him children, and so help people 
the world with Saints. If I suffered it did not matter." 

That she had suffered was evident by her voice and expres- 
sion. 

At the end of what was a very interesting afternoon, I was 
photographed with the party of Mormon women and the 
Elder. 

A day at Funchal, on the island of Madeira, two days in 
fact, separated by an interval of three years, are clearly out- 
lined by memory. On the first occasion we spent the evening 
there, going back to the ship after participating at the Casino 



MARRIAGE CUSTOMS AND POLYGAMY 313 

in a brilliant ball, and trying our luck on the roulette wheel, 
which was in full swing, winning a few dollars and promptly 
losing them. The grounds surrounding the Casino and the 
city below were lighted with thousands of colored globes; and 
the whole scene was suggestive of the Arabian Nights. 

On the next occasion we passed the day in Funchal, and 
rode in queer and uncomfortable bullock carts over cobble- 
stone streets: we ascended the high cliffs which rose above 
the town by means of a little funicular railway, and we de- 
scended by tobogganing down in curious baskets made for that 
purpose. 

Then I went shopping in a very restful hammock swung 
over the shoulders of two stalwart Portuguese carriers. 

Happy days! 

The very last experience of an unusual nature which I en- 
joyed with my beloved, in travel, was motoring through the 
Kabyl Mountains in the late winter of 19 13. 

We had been in Tunis and Hammam Mousketine, and we 
came to Algiers — remaining for the day and for the second 
time visiting some of the interesting spots in this too mod- 
ernized Oriental town. 

My husband photographed me in the "Palace of Aban- 
doned Wives," a very beautiful house, where the Sultan, in 
olden days before the French invasion, stored the wives of 
whom he had grown weary. He returned to them the jew- 
els they brought at the time of their marriage, and they were 
fed and clothed by him, but their only occupation was in 
wandering about the beautiful halls and rooms of their prison 
palace, while later favorites dwelt with him elsewhere. 

I visited the Turkish baths, where the high class Arab 
women go with their attendants and often pass the entire day. 
This is their one opportunity for gossip, and for learning what 
is going on outside of their own harems. 

Only one Arab woman in fifty possesses the beauty we asso- 
ciate with the Oriental woman. The Arab men admire fat, 
and so the women acquire it early. The very young girls 



3H THE WORLDS AND I 

are often beautiful, but their beauty sinks into avoirdupois 
before thirty. 

We took the evening train for Tizi-Ouzou, arriving there 
at noon the next day, after a steady mountain climb. Soon 
after lunch we engaged a small Arab guide and set forth on 
foot to see the sights of the little Arab town. Hear- 
ing weird plaintive music, I asked the guide to conduct us 
to the spot where it originated; and in a few moments we 
came upon a curious sight. In a large courtyard were con- 
gregated fifty women, and three little girls, six, eight and ten 
years, fantastically yet attractively arrayed in brilliant hued 
scarfs and bizarre jewels, and all three being coached by a 
teacher in the old licentious Dance du Ventre, which must be 
taught in childhood to those who acquire the control of their 
muscles which alone gives skill in this dance. 

It is the only terpsichorean performance which one sees in 
those lands, and becomes very monotonous to travelers, but it 
seems never to pall upon the natives. These little girls were 
being taught to hold the body rigid, and to move the abdomen 
in a rotary manner, and again to keep the abdomen and limbs 
motionless, while the breasts quivered like jelly shaken in a 
mold. 

Four Arab men musicians were playing on strange native 
instruments and the teacher, a very pretty Kabyl woman, was 
encouraging her pupils by showing them her own perfect 
command of her muscles: the other score or two of women 
were clapping hands and giving shrill cries as the dancing 
proceeded. The Kabyl people occupied Northern Africa be- 
fore the Arabs invaded it. They fled to the mountains, and 
were never conquered by the invaders. While they are Mo- 
hammedan in religion yet they do not veil their women, and 
therefore my husband was allowed to stand with me and 
watch this dancing class, where he would have been driven 
away from such a scene among the other Arab tribes. The 
Kabyles are an intellectual people and possess much artistic 
taste: the women are often delicate and handsome of fea- 
ture, and of a lighter shade of brown than the Bedouin or 



MARRIAGE CUSTOMS AND POLYGAMY 315 

Tunisians. The dancing teacher wore a most odd and effec- 
tive necklace, and I signified my wish to buy it. My little 
guide tried to obtain it for three dollars, then four, and finally 
procured it for five. I washed it in peroxide and other disin- 
fectants and often afterward wore it with much satisfaction. 
I had made a collection of odd necklaces and chains in various 
parts of the world : and the next day as we motored up a spiral 
roadway, corkscrewing about the high mountains in what 
seemed to me a perilous manner, we came to a curious little 
town perched on the very top of the Kabyl range, and there 
we found a native jeweler making the most interesting neck- 
laces and pins we had ever seen. He had never been outside 
the Kabyl Mountains, and how he had obtained his artistic 
ideas puzzled us greatly. Doubtless from past lives. 

After we returned to America I had sixteen of my odd neck- 
laces photographed. One had been obtained from a harem 
in Tangier, Morocco — bought off the neck of one of the 
widows of the defunct Bey : China, Japan, Tunis, the Garden 
of Allah, Algiers, the Kabyl Mountains, Tizi-Ouzou, Sicily, 
Venice, Ceylon, Burmah, were all represented in this col- 
lection. 



CHAPTER XXI 
People, Abroad and at Home 

IT was a rainy afternoon in Paris, one late winter day, and 
my husband and I had gone out to Fontainebleau to loiter 
about the galleries and bathe our minds in the atmosphere of 
an historic past. 

I was wandering through a room filled with the portraits 
of famous beauties, painted by equally famous artists, when a 
lady entered and seated herself just opposite me. 

She was attired in a jaunty rain coat and cap, and she was 
in the full bloom of youth. So attractive and magnetic was 
she, that I forgot the inanimate paintings on the walls, and 
devoted my time to looking at the living beauty, endeavoring 
by every kind of maneuver to prevent the object of my ad- 
miration from knowing that I was staring at her. 

I found my husband in an adjoining room and advised him 
to obtain a peep at what I supposed was a French beauty: 
and he quite agreed with me that she rivaled the portraits of 
the King's favorites. 

It may have been a week thereafter that we were bidden 
to a banquet at the charming home of Mr. and Mrs. John 
Adams Thayer, who were residing in Paris. The dinner was 
in honor of the American Consul, General Mason and his wife. 
The other guests were Mr. and Mrs. Booth Tarkington, and 
Mr. and Mrs. Harry Leon Wilson. 

When the last mentioned lady was presented to us, imagine 
our surprise in recognizing our beauty of Fontainebleau ; it was 
no other than Rose Cecil O'Neill, the famous artist and au- 
thor, at that time Mrs. Harry Leon Wilson. She was even 
more radiant in evening dress, and justified all our former 
admiration. 

Among the scores of banquets recalled by memory, few 
316 



PEOPLE, ABROAD AND AT HOME 317 

stand forth with such undimmed luster as that dinner of the 
hospitable Thayers. It was a progressive dinner, and at a 
signal from the hostess each man took his glass and his nap- 
kin, and proceeded to the chair next the lady at his right. 
In this manner each woman talked with each man at the table : 
and brilliant was the sparkle of conversation and repartee in 
that gifted circle. 

I remember the surprise I felt when after dinner Booth 
Tarkington proceeded to sing a series of songs in a most melo- 
dious voice and with the air of a professional entertainer. 

Eight years afterward my husband and I were again bidden 
by Mr. and Mrs. Thayer to another dinner at their new home 
in Westport, Connecticut, and again it was in honor of General 
and Mrs. Mason, who were visiting America for the first time 
in years. (This was the first year of the present war.) Gen- 
eral Mason told us most interesting experiences he had enjoyed 
while serving our country in a high official capacity in Ger- 
many, where he had frequently dined at the Emperor's table. 

A few days later this dear couple called on us at our Bun- 
galow and Nature graciously prepared for them one of the 
most splendid sunsets Granite Bay ever offered her visitors. 
Standing by the water's edge bathed in the sunset's glory, 
General and Mrs. Mason talked with Robert and me of their 
profound belief, based on personal experiences, of the nearness 
of the spirit worlds and the desire of our departed dear ones to 
communicate with us. Many times since have I recalled the 
hour and scene and talk. 

Once in Paris I made a professional visit to Madame de 
Thebes, the famous psychic and palmist, who predicted the 
San Francisco earthquake six months before it occurred. 

Madame de Thebes possessed unquestionable powers as a 
clairvoyant and as a palmist, yet like all professional psychics 
she made great mistakes. 

So soon as one possessed of the open mind or psychic 
power uses it as a means of gaining a livelihood, the menace 
of trickery must be met. Approached every hour by some 
one who wants a revelation, the professional psychic forces 



318 THE WORLDS AND I 

conditions which should come spontaneously and which do so 
come at times. The weaker and coarser type resort to stimu- 
lants and drugs to produce the powers to see and hear clair- 
voyantly, and in this way open the door to evil influences on 
both planes. Others simply resort to deceit and still others 
merely fail. Madame de Thebes was a woman of high moral 
character, refinement and statuesque beauty. So in demand 
were her services that I was obliged to wait two weeks from 
the time I first made my application for an interview. While 
I waited for her to 1 admit me to her presence I was enter- 
tained by studying dozens of royal photographs which were 
autographed gifts to the Seer ess. And almost every celebrity 
in Europe was also upon her table or wall in photograph form. 

I had gone to Madame de Thebes simply as an American 
woman who desired to consult her on business. I went the 
day preceding the presentation in New York of the play, 
"Mizpah," a drama by Luscome Searelle, the English play- 
wright, with whom I had collaborated. My work consisted in 
taking his ideas and turning them into verse. The play was 
based on the Bible story of Queen Esther and it had been pro- 
duced in California a year previously with great success. It 
had a most brilliant run in San Francisco and Los Angeles, 
Oakland and other California towns, and to this day people 
talk of "Mizpah" with admiration and affection. So decided 
was its success that Mr. Frohman bought it and put it on 
nearly a year afterward in Boston with a very expensive cast 
of stars, where it achieved an artistic success but did not fill 
the box office requirements. So it was sublet to a less ex- 
pensive company and was to be produced in New York the 
evening of the day I called on Madame de Thebes. Once in 
the presence of that lady I asked if a business venture in New 
York about to be put to the test would succeed. 

Madame de Thebes, without a moment's hesitation, replied : 
"It will be an absolute failure." 

"Has it no future ?" I asked. 

"It has something to do with an MS./' Madame replied, 
"and I see it crossing the ocean and coming over here, but that 
is all. I do not find any appearance of it afterward." 



PEOPLE, ABROAD AND AT HOME 319 

Her words were verified in every particular. 

"Mizpah" made a complete and tragic failure in New York. 

Mr. Searelle took the MS. to London and had all ar- 
rangements well in hand for its presentation in a large theater 
there with a brilliant cast, when he suddenly died, as he stood 
at the telephone sending a message. 

"Mizpah" seemed to die with him. The Frohmans for a 
time used it in stock; there was a sale of its moving picture 
rights, and talk of a spectacular costly presentation, but that 
too flashed in the pan. "As dead as a door nail" seemed to 
be the epitaph of "Mizpah." 

Yet in California people say that no other drama ever left 
upon their minds such beautiful and lasting memories as the 
love scenes of "Mizpah" when played by beautiful Adele 
Block, the ideal Esther, and J. H. Gilmore, that most wonder- 
ful Ahasuerus. 

It is curious that Madame de Thebes was able to forecast 
the utter failure of this play, without knowing it was a play, 
twenty- four hours before its appearance in New York. 

And having forecast the San Francisco disaster with equal 
exactness, it is curious that she so utterly failed in her pre- 
visions of the war, which she declared would end in 191 5. 
Madame de Thebes passed into the world of realities two 
years ago. Her last published Almanac contained many erro- 
neous predictions; yet were all her predictions to be classi- 
fied, she would doubtless be found to deserve her title of 
Seeress. 

I met Bernhardt in New York, and afterward when I was 
in Paris the Divine Sarah sent me a telegram one morning 
asking me to breakfast with her at her charming home. That 
was a memorable morning : and the two hours I spent in her 
presence repaid me for all the years of study I had given 
to her language. Had it been necessary it would have recom- 
pensed me too for the price I had paid, previously and all un- 
known to her, for my introduction. But my manner of in- 
troduction was not necessary. Julie Opp, in the early years 
of her dramatic career abroad, had attracted the attention of 



320 THE WORLDS AND I 

Madame Bernhardt, who became her devoted friend, and 
whenever the great actress came to New York this source of 
a personal introduction was open to me. But I had never been 
a seeker of dramatic celebrities, knowing how occupied they 
always are, and being myself always a busy person. 

There was for several seasons (perhaps three only) a 
French professor in New York City named Professor W. 
His name and his personality were distinctly German (as were 
his ideas of business acumen seen under present illuminating 
conditions), but he was born and had been reared and edu- 
cated in Paris, and his diction was perfect. He became a very 
pronounced success as a teacher and lecturer in New York's 
ultra fashionable and ponderously rich circles. The Vander- 
bilts, the Astors, the Crugers, and many others of that class 
employed Professor W. to give them morning talks in French, 
and there was even a rivalry shown by certain fashionable 
women regarding him, each desiring to exploit him as an en- 
tertainer more conspicuously than the other. 

Society columns of the weeklies and dailies gave Professor 
W.'s name in connection with smart set affairs frequently. 

Before he had come into his vogue with the very wealthy, 
however, I had been in his class for a term of lessons, and he 
had called at my humble little apartment one Sunday with his 
pretty wife and handsome daughter. When, the winter fol- 
lowing his second season of social success, Professor W. began 
to be a regular attendant at my Sunday afternoons, I remem- 
ber feeling a sensation of surprise. I somehow previsioned 
an ulterior motive. One day he came early and told me his 
lovely daughter was engaged to be married and he said he 
wanted to give a social affair in my honor, as his daughter's 
fiance was a literary man, and for other reasons. The affair 
came off and was very pleasant. It was several weeks after 
this that he and his wife came to call, bringing the news that 
Madame Bernhardt was in town and that she had expressed 
to them a great desire to meet me. Professor and Mrs. W. 
were close friends of hers and had been for many years, so 
they told me. I thanked them for the offer to introduce me to 



PEOPLE, ABROAD AND AT HOME 321 

the world-famous artist, and said that before she left town I 
would avail myself of the opportunity. 

The next week Professor W. called and suggested that I 
write a poem to Bernhardt; and he would see that she gave 
me an autographed picture in return and that she expressed 
her admiration for my poetry publicly. All this disturbed 
more than it pleased me. Never in my life had I found it 
necessary to plot and plan for praise, or to use a go-between 
to make the acquaintance of any one. But I understood that 
the professor wished to appear as a friend to both Madame 
Bernhardt and myself, and so I allowed his plan to culminate. 
His wife accompanied me to Bernhardt's dressing-room one 
night and the matter of the verses and the photographs went 
through. 

My husband and I were starting on a vacation trip, possi- 
bly two months later, when there came to me a messenger boy 
bringing a letter from Professor W. He stated that he was 
about to be evicted from his apartment through lack of money 
to pay his rent, now two or three months in arrears. He said 
that the wealthiest family in New York had gone away owing 
him four hundred dollars and another owed him two, and still 
another three. "These people are good pay finally," he said. 
"I know when they come home they will give me all they owe 
me. But they have never needed for money, and it does not 
occur to them that I could be in straits. I dare not dun them. 
I will lose their patronage in future if I do. But I am in an 
awful dilemma. My daughter is to be married soon : the date 
is set ; if I am evicted and disgraced it will spoil her pleasure, 
perhaps prevent her marriage. My poor wife is ill and we are 
appealing to your good heart as a last forlorn hope. ,, 

The letter embarrassed me exceedingly. I realized they be- 
lieved me to be under obligations to them, and that my refusal 
to lend the two hundred dollars asked would seem ungrateful. 
I knew Professor W. had a large patronage among the very 
wealthy. I knew from other people, sewing women, hair- 
dressers, milk dealers, newsdealers, that the ultra-fashionable 
folk were most inconsiderate as a rule in the matter of paying 
small bills promptly. They paid eventually; but rarely 



322 THE WORLDS AND I 

promptly. I believed Professor W. would receive all due him 
and believed he would reimburse me. I had paid in advance 
for the niece I was then educating. I had sent my mother 
money; I had helped private charities in which I was inter- 
ested. By denying some other deserving people I had 
planned to assist, I could lend the professor for the months he 
asked the two hundred dollars. I sent it to him and received a 
fervent letter of thanks and his note. 

The daughter was married and a reception of a most elab- 
orate kind was given, with much feasting and many guests. 

When, at the stated time, I asked for payment of the note, 
Professor W. wrote me his wife was at death's door. Later 
letters brought no reply. For some years I could not locate 
him. Inquiries resulted in the information that both the pro- 
fessor and his wife had died some four years or more after 
my loan, and the daughter was divorced. But, at least, 
I had my breakfast with Bernhardt out of that ex- 
perience. And there were present her lovely daughter-in-law, 
and her two adorable grandchildren, the youngest one then 
about nine years old and the image of her famous grandmere, 
I thought. There were, too, several secretaries and a Major 
Domo; and I read all their palms, even including the Divine 
Sarah's, and saw therein all the marvelous qualities which had 
made her what she was : for the palm, even as the Bible tells 
us, contains the whole character. It never lies. We can train 
the voice, the eye, and even the muscles of the mouth to con- 
ceal what the mind is thinking. But the palm is, second by 
second, recording every emotion and thought, and he who runs 
may read. 

I think it was two years after this experience of loaning 
money that I was next called upon to act the part of the good 
and foolish fairy godmother : the goose of the golden egg. 

It was fully ten years later (19 17) that I again was bid- 
den to breakfast with Bernhardt, this time in New York, and 
again was amazed at that wonderful woman's indescribable 
beauty and charm ; and saw again that lovely granddaughter, 
grown to exquisite adolescence. 



PEOPLE, ABROAD AND AT HOME 323 

I had met in New York drawing rooms a very gifted artist, 
Miss B. She was a woman in perhaps her late thirties or 
early forties ; very plain, but exceedingly magnetic and witty 
and entertaining. Her work in oil was attracting much at- 
tention and two years before we met her she had sold some 
of her landscape scenes for large sums. The best critics 
ranked her among the immortals. My husband enjoyed talk- 
ing with her, and we asked her to visit us at our Bungalow 
the following summer, when we left for the seashore. I 
wrote her after we were settled, naming a time. 

Miss B. replied with a most pitiful letter, saying she had 
not the price of a railroad ticket, and worse yet, she was to 
be evicted from her apartment where she had lived ten years, 
for the lack of means to pay her rent. She said she was to 
give an exhibition of her paintings in the early autumn, after 
people came back to town. She valued some of her paintings 
at five thousand dollars, and her prices ranged from that 
down to one thousand and even less. If I could lend her two 
hundred dollars, or if any of my friends could, she would 
give as security any picture I selected, and her note at the 
usual rate of interest, payable in a few months, when her ex- 
hibition was sure to place her on Easy Street. She reminded 
me of her last exhibition, where her work had commanded 
such excellent prices. 

I talked with my husband, and he thought it a kindness to 
a worthy and sister artist to help her out of her difficulty; 
and he believed it also a good investment. One of her paint- 
ings would always command much more than the amount of 
the loan. 

So the money was wired to Miss B., bringing joy to her 
heart. 

Letters of gratitude, and her note followed. She said I 
must wait for the picture till I came to town so as to select 
carefully. In the autumn I made my selection, and asked for 
the picture to be sent me at my apartments. Miss B. suggested 
that she keep it at her studio to show visitors until I again 
opened my seashore home, when she would send it there. I 
consented. She called or wrote me a tender note of apprecia- 



324 THE WORLDS AND I 

tion of my kindness almost weekly. Yet when I was ready to 
go to the Bungalow, and asked her to send my picture, she 
put me off with so many excuses I began to feel uneasy. After 
my arrival there it was the same, until I gave up in despair. 
And when Miss B. died, a few years later, I had not received 
the picture or the money. 

When her studio effects were put on sale I sent in my claim 
to her brother. He was indignant at my lack of feeling, he 
wrote me, to mention such a matter at such a time. 

The only explanation for these and several other similar 
experiences which I have had, lies in my old incarnations 
where I set in motion some vibrations of a like nature, which 
had to affect my life here and now. But there have been more 
agreeable events in these matters — things which restore one's 
faith in humanity. My husband and I both once lent money 
to an ex-convict in whose reform we implicitly believed. He 
paid it back to the last farthing, refusing to keep the final five 
dollars as my husband requested him to do for good luck. "I 
will feel more of a man," he said, "if I pay it all." And he 
has proven himself a man ever since, and that is more than 
twenty years ago. 

A fallen woman, who was trying to pick herself up, came 
across my path once upon a time. I became interested in 
her, and helped her financially. It was only a matter of sixty 
dollars; but it meant life or moral death to her at the time. 

She repaid every penny of it: repaid it by money earned 
in honest labor, and there have been others who swelled 
the list of the honorable and worthy. 

So when we sum up our experiences we find life gives us as 
many happy surprises as painful disillusionments. 

But looking back over a long career, I am more and more 
impressed that in the matter of lending money a great moral 
responsibility is involved. With parents lies an equally grave 
responsibility in teaching their children early in life that debt, 
even temporary debt, borders on weakness and that every pos- 
sible effort in self-reliance must be made before a loan is re- 
quested. One of the many bonds of sympathy between my 
husband and myself was this horror we both felt for any form 



PEOPLE, ABROAD AND AT HOME 325 

of debt; he as an orphan boy, dependent on his own exer- 
tions from the age of eleven, and I as a country girl digging 
a path out of obscurity with my pen. That we both had known 
the experience of borrowing, we remembered as a sort of ig- 
nominy; and we both had the happy consciousness that our 
first obligation in life had always been to repay our debts even 
to the return of a borrowed postage stamp. Only through 
such a sense of moral obligation can character be developed. 
Life is a mental and spiritual gymnasium ; and it is by using 
the difficulties and obstacles we encounter and overcoming 
them ourselves that we gain strength. The ready asker 
for financial help is seldom the ready payer. And beware of 
the friend who, owing you one debt, however small, asks for 
a second loan. Something is lacking in his moral make-up. 
Pride is certainly lacking. 

A young woman found herself ill at a hotel and unable 
to pay her room rent. She had planned to give a recital, 
but holiday season caused the people who had promised 
to assist her to postpone the event. She fell ill and 
despair seized her. Her case was called to my attention and I 
paid her hotel bill of forty dollars, she to repay me after her 
recital took place. That was thirty years ago. The lady has 
since that time sent me engraved cards from a hotel in London 
where she was living, and she has written me many letters ask- 
ing my help and influence for various charitable enterprises. 
She devotes her life to altruistic work; but there is a loose 
plank in her character or she would feel it imperative to pay 
that old loan, no matter whether she thinks I need it or not. 
She would pay it to build up her own self-respect and to earn 
my respect. It is impossible to feel respect for those who have 
no fine sense of honor and obligation in money matters. 
Money is a coarse and ugly commodity ; unless we surround it 
with fine and delicate thoughts, it will invariably cheapen and 
coarsen our natures. 

I believe our Invisible Helpers would approve of this motto 

for US all, BE CAREFUL HOW YOU BORROW AND BE CAREFUL 
HOW YOU LEND. 

We should think thrice before doing either. 



326 THE WORLDS AND I 

I fear both my husband and myself have done more toward 
making weaklings, by our ready loans, than we have done in 
building up courage and overcoming despair. 

It is a discouraging thought, to come late in life. But ex- 
perience has forced it upon me. If any troubled soul facing 
financial need reads these lines, let me urge prayer with- 
out CEASING FOR LIGHT AND STRENGTH TO SEE THE PATH TO 

independence,, and constant quiet assertions of the power 
within that Soul to bring its rightful share of God's opulence. 
Then go forth and seek, and the way will open. Look up 
and look in before you look out to mortal aid. 

Yet in this matter of refusing appeals for loans, there must 
be great delicacy and great unselfishness employed. And self 
analysis to see that we do not simply follow an avaricious 
or unsympathetic impulse. We must be willing to take time 
and trouble and effort to help the would-be borrower to help 
himself. We must convince him, and ourselves as well, that 
we are not withholding the money from any mean or ignoble 
motive. And great discrimination must be used. Out of too 
many unfortunate experiences to enumerate, I can think 
of four occasions where had my husband and I refused a 
loan we would have missed just so many rare privileges to 
aid the deserving at the psychological moment. 

To miss such an opportunity from indifference, thought- 
lessness or selfishness, would have been to set ourselves back 
in growth of character, as well as to discourage worth-while 
souls struggling to climb over rough roads. 

During my several visits to England I had been urged by 
friends there to request our American Ambassador to present 
me at Court. The idea seemed at first more absurd than other- 
wise to me. I associated a presentation at Court with people 
of large wealth and extreme ambitions to shine socially. I 
possessed neither. 

My English friends, however, convinced me that it was an 
agreeable form of placing oneself on the right social footing 
in England, and that as my literary work had already re- 
ceived the commendation of royalty, I ought to receive it 



PEOPLE, ABROAD AND AT HOME 327 



personally. My London publishers urged the matter also, say- 
ing I must view the matter from the English standpoint, not 
the American. So I made my application, and shortly after- 
ward the American Ambassador died. I believed my chance of 
being presented to King George and Queen Mary had died 
with him; my husband took me on a second tour through 
northern Africa, and I quite forgot about the matter. We 
reached London on our return from motoring through the 
Kabyl Mountains on Sunday, at midday, May 4th, 191 3. 
(Right here I digress a bit to relate an amusing incident that 
occurred as we drove from the station up to the Langham 
Hotel. Previous visits in London had caused me to find a 
center of interest in the large department store of Peter Robin- 
son. As we passed it on this Sunday afternoon, my husband 
glanced up at the building, heaved a sigh, and gave vent to 
the following impromptu quatrain : 

Oh, Peter, Peter Robinson, 
When you and Ella meet 
Then things get dark for Robert 
But very bright for Pete.) 

Arriving at the Langham Hotel, we found the accumulation 
of a three weeks' mail. Among the letters was the following 
from the American Embassy : 



(2^^ J2^*z> <&Aa>?7iv&ruu>n/, 



aj 



&jn&c/e' 







328 THE WORLDS AND I 

It filled me with consternation. I had just three days in 
which to prepare my gown and to rehearse my unaccustomed 
part. I telephoned to my most intimate friend in London, 
Mrs. Frank Howard Humphries, and she came and assured me 
we could manage the affair if we lost no time. Her dress- 
maker would put aside all other work and make my gown. 
The Charge d' Affaires and his wife (officiating at the Ameri- 
can Embassy until the arrival of the new Ambassador) would 
tell me everything I needed to< know about the presentation. 
It was a much simpler ordeal, she said, than it had been in 
the Victorian period. King Edward had abolished the awk- 
ward, backward exit, and substituted an easy, straight path 
from the presence of royalty after the necessary obeisance had 
been made. 

Even as my friend said, the gown was finished a half hour 
before I was booked to leave the Langham Hotel for Buck- 
ingham Palace: — costumed, betrained, befeathered, with a 
coachman and footman as the law of etiquette demanded. 
That afternoon was most strenuous. Reporters, male and fe- 
male, English and American, flocked to the Langham for news 
about the presentation and description of the costume I was to 
wear ; and personal friends came in numbers. The maids and 
housekeepers of the hotel asked permission to come in and 
see me in the attire which was so soon to be looked upon by 
the eyes of royalty: and their respectful, almost reverent at- 
titude was difficult for an American mind to grasp. 

Among my callers was Elsa Barker, who was living in Lon- 
don at that time, and with her came Dr. Murray Leslie. 
My last few moments before leaving the room were de- 
voted to a rehearsal of my presentation to the King and Queen. 
Dr. Murray Leslie and Mrs. Barker assumed the role of the 
royal personages. Lacking a throne, they sat side by side on 
the bed. 

I started by the farthest window of my quite capacious room 
and slowly approached the distinguished impersonators of 
royalty, and made my best curtsey separately to each as I 
had been instructed to do, careful not to allow my gaze to leave 
the face of the Queen too abruptly. "You must look at her 



PEOPLE, ABROAD AND AT HOME 329 

until she looks away to the next one who follows you," they 
had told me. 

As there was no one following me at this rehearsal, I 
looked at Elsa's handsome face until I passed out of the door 
and was on my way toward my carriage. I heard a burst 
of laughter from the royal persons I left behind, and hoped 
I would not hear such merriment when I left the presence of 
real royalty. 

Perhaps a half mile from Buckingham Palace the carriage 
I occupied fell into line with innumerable other carriages and 
motor cars, all containing ladies in court dresses with be- 
f eathered heads : and there I sat for a good three-quarters of 
an hour inching along a few feet at a time, as the other 
carriages allowed. Finally the gates of Buckingham Palace 
were reached — were passed; the door itself was reached and 
out I bundled, carrying my yards of velvet train over my dis- 
satisfied arm and following the ladies who preceded me 
through great halls and splendid corridors, into a large room 
filled with gorgeous costumes and nodding plumes. 

Many maids came forward to take our wraps and lift down 
our trains, and refold them and hang them again over our 
arms after we had primped a bit before royal mirrors. 

Being alone, and having no one to ask "What next?" I 
simply followed where the crowd led. We wound along 
through other splendid corridors and through other lordly 
rooms until at last we came to one half filled with a brilliant 
crowd of men in uniform and royal flunkies in wonderful 
habiliments and hundreds of dazzling ladies seated in chairs 
doing nothing save to look at one another's gowns. Obeying 
the general rule, I also sat down and looked at the other 
dresses and there I remained a mortal hour and a half, at 
least — my train still over my arm because I saw all other 
trains over arms. It grew very heavy and I grew a bit tired 
looking at befeathered heads and diamond tiaras and shining 
satins and lustrous silks, and snowy laces and dazzling com- 
plexions. 

Then suddenly there was a flutter and a tall, royal flunky 
came and began to direct the front rows of ladies to move 



330 THE WORLDS AND I 

onward, and one by one the seats were emptied and the ladies 
disappeared into another room and finally my turn came to 
follow. Down a long hall, the walls lined with priceless 
tapestries; through a room filled with gleaming statues; past 
rows of historic portraits of famous personages, done by im- 
mortal artists; and finally the door of the throne room was 
reached. There two brilliant beings in the impressive costumes 
of court officials stepped forward and deftly lifted my heavy 
and tiresome train from my grateful arm, and dropped it 
neatly and squarely upon a rose colored carpet. The lady 
immediately in front of me wore a corn-colored satin. I 
walked slowly, intent upon keeping a safe distance from her 
train. Suddenly I saw her curtsey very low; once, twice; 
then I became conscious that I was in the presence of royalty : 
and I too followed in her wake and curtsied low, once, twice; 
looking straight, first at King George and second upon Queen 
Mary, at the distance of perhaps twelve feet, sitting on a 
raised dais sort of throne. The King was in uniform: the 
Queen in pale blue satin with many jewels. Then I walked 
forward, following always the lady in yellow satin. At the 
door, beyond the throne room, two more impressive beings 
lifted my train and put it back upon my arm. I followed 
through another long room, filled with beautiful objects of 
art, its walls covered with many portraits ; I stood in line with 
those who preceded me and watched others who followed me 
reinforce our ranks. A Guard of the King's Household, nine 
feet tall, counting wonderful headgear, stood next me, holding 
a tall spear; and I snugged under his arm and watched the 
glittering scene, wondering if it were a twentieth century fact 
or a bit of ancient history shown on a moving picture screen. 

One by one the ladies who had been presented came down 
the center of the two lines of watchers like the head couple 
in Money Musk, until the last one passed by. Then there 
was the blare of a trumpet and the orchestra began to play 
"God Save the King/' Men in heavily braided uniforms 
walked down the centers in twos : and four other men in still 
more wonderful uniforms backed down the center, salaaming 
as they backed: and following came the Queen with two 



PEOPLE, ABROAD AND AT HOME 331 

small pages bearing her train, and by her side, the King: 
and behind trailed all the royal family of sisters and cousins 
and aunts. I had seen them in the throne room, sitting on 
a dais at the right, gazing at us through their lorgnettes, but I 
had been warned by the Charge d' Affaires to pay no at- 
tention to them, as only the King and the Queen were to be the 
recipients of one's attention on presentation night. And then 
it was all over, save a march of the entire company into the 
refreshment room; and then the march out past an important 
personage, who proved to be the first Royal Carriage Caller, 
who shouted it to a second, who shouted it to a third. Then 
there was nothing to do but to stand or sit and wait until 
one's carriage came. 

I waited just one hour for mine. But the wait in the great 
corridor of Buckingham Palace while dukes and duchesses, 
earls and countesses, and the high officials of Army and 
Navy passed out to their vehicles was not tedious: for it 
made a picture for the eye that loves color and it gave 
food for the mind and imagination. It was the only food 
which I enjoyed that night, for so hurried had been my 
afternoon of preparation that I had no time for dinner. A 
glass of milk had been really my entire sustenance since break- 
fast. I was faint with hunger when I reached the refresh- 
ment room in Buckingham Palace, and the smell of the coffee 
accentuated my hunger. I seemed to be the only lady who had 
no escort : and so occupied were all the attendants in serving 
the guests that most of the ladies appealed to their escorts 
to bring them refreshments. My turn did not seem to come, 
while my hunger augmented every moment, and I finally de- 
cided to call my carriage and get back to the Langham Hotel 
before the dining room closed at midnight. This I did with 
a narrow margin of fifteen minutes. Almost falling into my 
waiting husband's arms, I begged him to conduct his starving 
wife to the dining room. Now nothing embarrassed my hus- 
band more than being prominent in any spectacular scene. He 
hesitated a moment and softly murmured, "Don't you think 
you had better go and remove your feathers and your train 
before going into the dining room?" "There is no time," I 



332 THE WORLDS AND I 

waned; "the dining room would close before I could ac- 
complish it, and you must remember, my dear, that we are not 
in America, and that my attire will cause nothing but the 
most humble reverence from every one here who beholds it." 
The statement proved literally true. The waiters in the dining 
room bowed low before the lady who had been so recently in 
the presence of the King and Queen, and we were ushered in 
and out with respectful dignity. My hunger appeased, I went 
up to my room, glad that I had been presented at Court (be- 
cause I regarded it as a tribute to American literature) and 
gladder still that I would not have to repeat the performance 
the next night. 

When I told the story to my publisher the next day, he 
asked why I did not call on some one in the dining room to 
bring me refreshments. "Because I did not dare," I an- 
swered, "lest among those universally resplendent beings who 
surrounded me, I should make my appeal to a Crown Prince 
or a Prime Minister/ ' Another interesting event in which I 
was asked to take part was to award prizes at the annual 
competition of "The Children's Salon." 

After my presentation at Court I was the recipient of 
very many interesting invitations which I could not accept as 
I was leaving England shortly. Captain and Mrs. John P. 
Boyd Carpenter invited me to meet his Grace, the Duke of 
Argyle, an event which occurred ten days after our date of 
sailing; and many other functions of a like nature had to be 
declined for this reason. 

When I received a letter from Lady Emily Lutyens asking 
my husband and myself to lunch, I had no idea who she 
was, other than an English woman of rank who had been 
for some years deeply interested in Theosophy. I knew the 
term "Lady" in England indicated that a woman was either 
the wife or the daughter of a titled man. Great was my 
pleasure on learning, the morning before the luncheon, that 
Lady Emily was the daughter of Owen Meredith, author 
of "Lucile" and granddaughter of Sir Bulwer Lytton, au- 
thor of "The Last Days of Pompeii" and many other great 
books. This news, while agreeable to me, was particularly 



PEOPLE, ABROAD AND AT HOME 333 

pleasing to my husband, who was going somewhat unwillingly 
to the lunch table of a mere woman of title, but who now felt 
she was something more than that. And glad he was afterward 



23rd iltinual Competitions 

IN ART. LITERATURE. MUSIC AND DANCINQ, ETC 

w 

"THE CHILDREN'S SALON" 

On Saturday, May 31st, 1913 

at THB 

Connaught l^ooms, Qt. Queen St., Kingsway 

ADMISSION 2S. 6d. from io jlu. by Payment at Door* 



? andcr iDe patreuoe of ■ 



ILX.IL TUB PRINCESS CHRISTIAN 
H.R.U. THE PRINCESS BEATRICE (PRINCESS 1IRNRY OP BATTENDERG) 
. H.R.U. TUB DUCHESS OF ALBANY 
B.R.H. THE PRINCESS CHARLES OP UOHBNZOLLERN 
H.U. FRIXCESS MARIE LOUISE OF SCULESWIOHOLSTEIN 
THE DUCHESS OF NORFOLK THE DUCHESS OF ABERCORN THE COUNTESS OF 

THE DUCHESS OF BEAUFORT THE MARCHIONESS OF BESSBOROCQH 

TUB DUCHESS OF SUTHERLAND LONDONDERRY THE COUNTESS OF fLCHESTEB 

THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE j^ MARC HIONESS OF ZETLAND THE COUNTESS HATHURST 

THE COUNTESS OP ABERDEEN TUB COUNTESS OF LIVERPOOL 

THE COUNTESS OP DUDLEY THE LADY ARTHUR HILL 



««MMiy OtrmHn J. S. WOOD. ESQ. Hawary Trmmmt A. f. WARDEN. ESQ. 

CctkKUd ty "LEV ANA.- 



Mrs. ELLA WHEELER WILCOX 

HAS KINDLY CONSENTED TO 

DISTRIBUTE THE PRIZES 

TO THE SUCCESSFUL COMPETITORS* 



of the privilege accorded him of meeting this very charming 
and brilliant woman. 

Lady Emily married an eminent architect and artist and 
their home was most restful and lovely in its orderly simpli- 



334 THE WORLDS AND I 

city-— not too much of anything anywhere and everything just 
right. We met two of her four children, girls of twelve and 
eight; she asked them to assist serving at luncheon, and the 
little girl was sent ahead to open doors for us. The home 
was based on ideals of loving service and simple living. Lady 
Lutyens was a most serious student of Theosophy and put 
its principles into daily execution. The children were deeply 
interested in her philosophy, and the husband tolerant and 
satisfied to have his family pursue these studies even if 
he had not the time himself. He was assigned (in 1913) 
the architectural reconstruction of Delhi, India. With such 
a gifted father, such an unusual mother, such a grandfather 
and great grandfather, one might look for something remark- 
able from the children of Lady Lutyens when they mature; 
but who can tell? 

Sir Henniker Heaton was a prominent figure in London 
in 19 12, and both he and his wife and his son and the son's 
very brilliant wife, the Honorable Katherine Mary Burrell, 
showed me many pleasant attentions. Sir Henniker Heaton 
took me to the House of Lords and presented me to all the 
distinguished men who were in sight or in sound of his voice ; 
declaring me to be a much more important personage in the 
world than I had ever before, or have ever since, considered 
myself. I smiled thinking of the amazement which some of 
the American high-brow critics would have felt — an amaze- 
ment mixed with indignation, I am sure, had they heard what 
this big-hearted, gracious Englishman, on whom the King had 
bestowed a title, said of me. But of course a man may be a 
great statesman and worthy of a title, and yet not know the 
fine distinctions the critics make in literary matters. 

Afterward I took tea with Lady Henniker Heaton and a 
very handsome daughter, Rose, who was a poet as well as a 
beauty, and met other distinguished English men and women. 

The next year I was again indebted to the Henniker Heatons 
for social favors. Their daughter in law was taking part in 
a great tournament in Earls' Court, where she rode a horse as 
Queen Elizabeth, leading a retinue of historic personages. 

All royalty was there to witness it; and I was asked to sit 



PEOPLE, ABROAD AND AT HOME 335 

in the Henniker Heaton box, just two tiers away from the 
Royal Box; and there I saw at very close range, in daylight, 
King George and Queen Mary, and was much impressed by 
the very serious faces of both. It was as if they already pre- 
visioned the grave events which were so soon to follow. 

Surely when England opens her heart to strangers she 
opens it wide. On my departure from England in June, I 
learned that a large reception had been planned for me at 
Southampton before sailing from that port on the Olympic. 
Proceeding to Southampton a day in advance, accompanied 
by Messrs. Gay and Hancock, my English publishers, I was 
met at the train by the American Consul, Colonel Albert W. 
Swalm, and several prominent citizens and conducted to the 
Polygon Hotel, where a luncheon of ten covers was prepared. 

Meantime Mrs. Smith, widow of the Captain of the ill-fated 
Titanic, was waiting to see me for a half hour alone. It was 
a difficult and pathetic half hour — this interview with the 
frail little lady filled with thoughts of her husband to whom 
she had been married a quarter of a century when his tragic 
death occurred. She felt I could say something to comfort 
but I fear I failed, save as there may be comfort in sympathy. 

Among the distinguished guests at the luncheon was Dr. 
Alexander Hill, president of the Hartley University, and Mrs. 
H. Bowyer, the Lady Mayoress of Southampton. After the 
luncheon there was a motor drive to Beaulieu and Lyndhurst, 
places of exquisite beauty and historic charm. Having always 
thought of Southampton as a dock for steamers, it was a 
revelation to find it a big beautiful city of subliminal buildings, 
of which Beaulieu Abbey stands preeminent. After the drive 
there was tea in the private rooms of the hospitable lady who 
conducted the Polygon Hotel, and during the tea her small 
nephew of eleven recited verses of mine with astonishing ex- 
pression and feeling. 

In the evening a reception was tendered me under most pic- 
turesque conditions. Carpets were spread upon the velvety 
lawn, and an artistic electrician had outdone himself in the 
lighting effects. Hundreds of guests were there and the whole 



336 THE WORLDS AND I 

scene was fairylike. An effective musical program ended 
the very unusual evening. 

During my drive in the day I had been shown a window of 
the most prominent book store in Southampton which had 
been given over to an exhibition of my volumes as published 
by Messrs. Gay and Hancock. That day and evening were my 
last memories of England before the war. 



CHAPTER XXII 
The Beginning of the End 

WHEN we returned from our wanderings in the early 
summer of 1913, I said to my husband, "I do not 
want to travel any more for some years. Let us stay here 
and assimilate the mental food which we have received during 
ten years of roaming. Let us improve our home and make 
every spot, within and without, a pleasure to the beauty loving 
eye. To help create beauty in the world, is to help God's 
ideals. We have an earthly Eden, and we must try and grow 
worthy of it by developing all its charms.'* 

This wish of mine found a response in my husband's heart ; 
for he too felt he wanted the repose found only at home. 

We added a long-talked-of "Flower Room" to our Barracks, 
and made many improvements which gave comfort to our 
employees, as well as to ourselves. We laid out a flower 
garden, in the form of eight triangles, in the back yard of the 
three little cottages (which we rented each summer to the 
same tenants year after year) and in this garden I worked 
a few hours daily, trying to carry out effective color schemes 
in sequences. 

My husband busied himself training the vines over the 
Bungalow Tower, which he had named "Starling Tower" be- 
cause it was neighbor to many bird houses, intended for robins 
and orioles, and bluebirds, but nearly all had been preempted 
by the starlings. We found those birds to be much like some 
people. During the courting season, and while fixing up their 
houses, their voices were like wind harps : so tender and sweet, 
they filled the air with music. Once they were settled in 
housekeeping, and rearing their young, they became the noisi- 
est, most discordant birds imaginable; their voices harsh and 
grating to the ear, and their aggressive qualities causing all 

337 



338 THE WORLDS AND I 

other occupants of the houses to depart. A dead cedar tree 
near by, Robert made into a thing of beauty, by training 
beautiful fragrant flowering vines over it: and just under this 
tree were the Elephant Gates leading down into the water; so 
named because of the pottery elephants we had brought from 
India, which decorated the posts : and from there the Tower 
Path led up to our beloved Bungalow. 

When the outdoor hours ended, I went indoors to pursue my 
study of the harp, begun that summer of 191 3 under Edith 
Davies-Jones, the Welsh harpist, who owned a cottage near 
us : and in two years' time I had made sufficient progress to be 
able to assist my teacher at a harp recital. It was given at 
the Stratford Hotel, in Bridgeport, Connecticut, as a testi- 
monial to my first French teacher, Madame Sorieul. I had 
composed a little air for the harp called "The Dance of the 
Elves," and Mrs. Davies-Jones and I played it as a duet, while 
four tiny human elves gave a wild wood nymph dance, which 
proved so effective they were three times recalled. 

1 went to New York from Bridgeport; and the next day 
my husband (who did not attend the recital) wrote me ex- 
pressing his delight and pride at the reports he heard of our 
successful entertainment. No matter what I did, ever were 
his interest and sympathy and wise criticism sure to enfold 
me, and make each effort seem worth while. We remained 
in our shore home, for the first time, those three winters suc- 
ceeding our return in 19 13, and we loved best the storm-bound 
days, when we were shut from the outside world with just 
ourselves, our books, our harp and Prince and Kim, the 
household pets. 

And how we loved our beautiful Granite Bay in its winter 
dress! My husband took some effective pictures of it during 
the snowy season of two winters, yet the camera could do but 
scant justice to the gleaming glory of the actual scene. We 
wondered how we could have left such beauty behind us, to 
seek far tropic lands for ten winters. Thank God for those 
three last memorable winters in our ice-wreathed, snow- 
dressed Granite Bay. 

It has been stated that invariably preceding a great war 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 339 

people pass through a period of unusual social merriment and 
frivolity; there seems to be an hysterical element in their 
amusements, and dancing is always a pronounced feature of 
their merry-makings. 

This condition certainly existed in the social world, both of 
Europe and America, for two or three years before the war 
blast blew over Belgium, and dimmed the lights of festivity in 
the halls of the whole world. 

In 19 12 and 19 13 the dance madness was at its height in 
London, and old and young alike participated in it. 

Always exceedingly fond of dancing, I was swept into the 
whirl with all my friends ; and many afternoons and evenings 
in London were spent in this grace-developing and health-sus- 
taining exercise. 

When I returned to my own country, the craze was at its 
height, and all my contemporaries were whirling and spinning 
about in the new dances. At Short-Beach-on-the-Sound a 
very attractive Inn had been erected by a woman Napoleon ( in 
a business sense), Mrs. Emma Beers. "The Arrowhead" was 
a social center of the most desirable people from surrounding 
resorts. Miss Beers (christened Jennie May, but renamed 
Jane, by my husband) was a finished pupil of three dancing 
academies; and she had many classes those two winters at 
"The Arrowhead." From infants to grandparents, the people 
of our own resort, and neighboring places, flocked to Miss 
Jane to be taught the newest steps in dancing. Under Jane's 
tutelage I had a private class for a time at The Barracks ; and 
while I danced my husband played cards, not being himself 
a dancer. 

Jane and I together created a new dance. I gave her the 
idea, and she fashioned it into a choice classic, which we 
called "The Dance of the Adoration of the Lilies." 

Miss Beers wore all green, and I wore all white; and we 
carried arms full of lilies when on three occasions we gave 
our dance in public. Many invitations came to us to repeat it ; 
but we felt it quite too perfect a creation to make common, 
so after its third rendition, we put away our dance-poem, in 
rose leaves and lavender, a lovely memory. After the break- 



340 THE WORLDS AND I 

ing out of the war, all my interest in dancing died a sudden 
death. I think I attended a few dancing functions with 
friends in New York, but the zest had departed, and forever. 

We enjoyed many pleasant house parties those winter 
months when our friends would leave the city gayeties to come 
to us. 

One shining occasion was starred by the presence of Kate 
Jordan, Theodosia Garrison and Charles Hanson Towne. 
Jean Pardee Clarke, always a picturesque member of the 
Bungalow circle, came out one of those days, and we all 
indulged in reminiscences of beautiful years gone, and still 
beautiful years with us. Always we talked softly of Martha. 

The morning the party broke up, I proposed that we should 
sit together and write some verse on any topic we chose. So 
the four of us wrote, while Robert smoked his cigar in the 
poetic atmosphere, and made witty comments. Theodosia, 
as ever most expert, finished her lines first and Mr. Towne 
next. Each of us wrote things we deemed worthy of pub- 
lication later. 

Some years previously I had made the acquaintance in 
London, of a young woman of marked physical and mental at- 
tractions^ — Ruth Helen Davis, of New York. Endowed with 
beauty and musical talents, she was then devoting her time to 
French translations and dramatic literature, with the hope 
of becoming a playwright. In all my experience with hu- 
manity, I have never encountered another human being who 
possessed so much ambition for achievement and so much 
energy and determination to succeed as Ruth Helen Davis. 
She was a stimulating companion, full of appreciation and 
kindness and good will ; and both my husband and I enjoyed 
having her with us. 

One summer she rented a cottage to be near us, and to carry 
out her ambition to collaborate on a play with me. I have no 
plots in my mental storehouse, but Ruth Helen supplied the 
plot, and I was to give lyrics and poetic dialogue. We com- 
pleted this play, "The Victory," and it was given for charity, 
as an outdoor entertainment one superb June day at the lordly 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 341 

estate of Simon Baruch in Long Branch, in a wonderful na- 
ture setting. Mrs. Davis played the leading role ; and the caste 
was formed of society belles and matrons. It was a great 
artistic and social success ; and Mrs. Davis was fired with an 
ambition to produce it in Boston. I urged otherwise, feeling 
it had not the vitality for a professional run. It was with- 
drawn after a week; but Mrs, Davis regarded it as so much 
valuable experience and went forth undaunted to undertake 
more ambitious things. 

The next spring she came down to the shore with an Egyp- 
tian idea in her bright brain : an idea for a big drama, historic 
and poetic. She asked Robert to make suggestions, knowing he 
was a student of history; and he entered at once into our 
collaboration with interest and gave us valuable information 
on the subject matter we had in view. We used to work from 
six to eight on the Bungalow veranda ; and then Robert came 
to take us to breakfast, telling us what he had read up in 
history regarding the period we were attempting to portray. 
Those were interesting days and were to be treasured in mem- 
ory. In the autumn Mrs. Davis went to Boston to take a 
course of study, and we never finished our drama. 

A brilliant dinner guest, we wired her once to come from 
Boston to meet our delightful friend Colonel Charles Bigelow 
and his sweet wife, who were just from England. Ruth 
Helen came, and the dinner party was another of the unfor- 
gettable occasions of that last winter of happiness. 

My husband had always been fond of his occasional Club 
night: but that winter of 19 16 he seemed to lose interest in 
it. 

I urged him to keep in touch with clubs, for when a man 
is not in active business these masculine organizations are 
helpful to him in many ways. But more and more he seemed 
to begrudge hours spent away from his home. Constantly he 
talked to me of his pleasure and satisfaction in his home, and 
of his delight in returning there when absent for even a few 
hours. Our social life, apart from our own entertaining, had 
always been in New York. Sometimes we went there for a 



342 THE WORLDS AND I 

week or a few days at a time, and one of the last occasions was 
a dinner party at the home of Hartley Manners, the extraor- 
dinarily successful playwright, and his genius wife Laurette 
Taylor, where we met people of talent in all the various lines of 
art. Mr. Manners and my husband had been Club friends for 
years, and one summer Hartley had rented a cottage at Short 
Beach, while he worked on one of his plays. The very last 
night in New York we spent together was at the Russian 
Ballet in the Metropolitan Opera House, where my friends, in 
whose box we sat, mentioned how noticeably well and vital 
Robert seemed. He had seemed so all that winter of 1916; 
and he had often spoken of his satisfaction in, at last, knowing 
how to take sensible care of himself, and how to get the best 
happiness out of life. He was making plans for the improve- 
ment of a stately piece of seashore property he had recently 
purchased, "Deepwood . Park," and he was planning, also, 
travels abroad, after the war ended. Yet at the same time 
he was putting all his earthly house in as careful order as 
if he had known how brief was to be his stay. , Every day 
that last wonderful winter he gave a portion of his time to 
making an inventory of every object we possessed: and all 
his business affairs were attended to after the manner of one 
who is going on a long journey. 

Always interested in matters psychic and spiritual, he was 
particularly so that winter; and the last book we ever read 
together was "Patience Worth." Over and over he reiterated 
his life-long statement to me, that should he precede me to 
the realm beyond, he would importune God until he was al- 
lowed to communicate with me, and he pleaded for a similar 
repetition of my promise to him. 

One stormy March day he said to me, "Every one is long- 
ing for the Spring. I never longed so little for it. In fact 
I do not want this winter to go. It has been the happiest 
season of my life. I wish it could go on and on like this ; just 
you and I shut in this dear home together." Early in April 
I was puzzled and disturbed by my own mental condition. With 
every blessing in life, doing the work I loved, having the re- 
creation I loved, in the place I loved, and with the man I 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 343 

loved, I yet woke every morning filled with a profound mel- 
ancholy. I could not shake it off. My Flower Room, which 
for two seasons had been my delight, gave me no pleasure. 
My window boxes which the previous winter I had found so 
interesting to prepare in color schemes to suit each room, I 
now planted in a dull apathy. The Spring wardrobe, which 
usually fascinated me, while in preparation, now gave me a 
sensation of nausea. A vast pall seemed to be spread over 
the whole world. I did not mention this mental condition to 
my husband. Even a serious mood of mine troubled him. 
He expected from me, always, bubbling spirits and radiant 
joy in life. A man of moods himself, and prone to days of 
melancholy, he looked to me to bring him back to optimism. 
'What will happen to me and the world/' he once said, "if 
you become despondent ? The bottom will drop out of the uni- 
verse." So I hid my unreasonable and incomprehensible mel- 
ancholy from him. 

I think the pretty French artist who helped me design 
my gowns, and made them for me, was the only one to 
whom I mentioned it. I said to her, "I am surely growing 
old at last. I have absolute distaste at the thought of getting 
new clothes to wear this Spring." "That sounds very strange 
from your lips," she replied. Then a curious thing happened. 
I had been a guest of honor at a very brilliant function. It 
was the White Breakfast of the Mozart Club in New York. 
It had been most interesting and I had received every attention, 
and had reason to feel happy and satisfied with life. I was 
remaining in town over night. I knew my husband was to 
spend a happy evening at his Club; and he was in the best of 
health. Yet I sat down that evening and wrote the following 
verses. I felt as if the end of the world had come. The uni- 
verse seemed a vast cavern in which I sat alone and desolate. 

THE FINISH 

Out of that wonderful world where God is, 
The Lords of Karma the path have shown. 
And given us lessons to learn in bodies — 
Oh, many the bodies our souls have known! 



344 THE WORLDS AND I 

In gem, and blossom, and sentient being. 
In dull cave dweller and thinking man. 
All things knowing, and feeling, and seeing — 
This is the purpose and this the plan. 

Forms are fashioned in wide world places 

From flame and ether and common clay ; 

While egos wait in the high star spaces 

Till the call shall come, which they must obey. 

Oh, never a wish or a hope lies hidden 

Of good or evil in any heart. 

But back to earth shall the soul be bidden 

To live out its longing, and play its part. 

Grief and pleasure and joy and sorrow, 

Out of old sowings we gather them all — 

And the seed of to-day we shall harvest to-morrow, 

When our souls come back at the karmic call. 

Over and over the lesson learning, 

Till, letter perfect, and meaning clear — 

Back on the spiral pathway turning 

We carry the knowledge we gathered here. 



The thought of that last journey back to Him 

When there is no more longing or desire 

For anything but God left in my soul, 

Shines in the distance like a great white flame. 

I think the way will lead through golden clouds 

Skirting the shores of seas of amethyst ! 

And winding gently upward ; past old worlds, 

Where body after body was outlived, 

Past Hells and Heavens, where I had my day 

With comrade Spirits from the lesser spheres 

And paid my penalty for every sin 

And reaped reward for every worthy act: 

Past Realms Celestial and their singing hosts 

(Where once I chanted with the cherubim) 

Out into perfect silence. Suddenly 

An all enveloping vast consciousness 

Of long, long journeys finished : one more turn 

Then glory, glory, glory infinite 

And selfhood lost in being one with God. 

The ray once more absorbed into the Sun. 

The cycle done. 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END 345 

The next day my husband was attacked with a severe cold, 
the physician said. It was called a cold for a week. Every 
afternoon there was fever. I had been a great believer in the 
power of the spoken word, in matters of all kinds. When- 
ever any malady had threatened either of us, I had written to 
Unity, the New Thought Society, at Kansas City, Missouri, 
and asked for the word of strength and healing to be uttered 
by the beautiful souls who conserve their lives for this purpose 
in silent unity. I wrote them on this occasion and received 
news by letter and by wire that the word was being uttered. 
Meantime the best medical skill was in attendance. I had no 
fear whatever. I felt he would recover. But when the hour 
strikes which God has appointed for a soul to be called out 
of the body, no mortal has power to hold it back. The hard 
cold developed into pneumonia. May twenty-first at 11.25 
P. M. Robert's soul went to God. 



CHAPTER XXIII 

The Search of a Soul in Sorrow 

you promised me 

All holy books of earth, all churches and all creeds, 

Are based on spirit miracles. 

Moses, Elias, Matthew, Mark and John, 

Paul and Cornelius, Buddha, Swedenborg, 

All talked with Angels, Yea, and many more. 

That was a mighty promise that you made me: — not once, 

But many a time, 
Whenever we discussed the topic death — 
You promised me that were such things possible 

In God's vast Universe, 
You would send back a message to my listening soul, 

Now am I listening with bated breath. 

Always on earth you kept your promises. Why! never once 
Through all the years, the wonderful great years 

We walked together 
Did you forego your word and break a pledge 
However trivial its purpose. 

Surely that habit of a loyal mind endures ; 

Surely that soul of yours 
Has not been changed so utterly because it laid aside 
The body which had died — 
That it forgets a solemn promise made to me 

Not once, but many a time. 
Why! such forgetfulness would be a crime 
Against love, faith and hope, the precious three. 

It could not be. 

So am I waiting, watching — in the light — and listening in the 

dark — 
For any sight, or sound you may have sent : 
So do I lean and hark — 
Night in, day out — 

346 



THE SEARCH OF A SOUL IN SORROW 347 

Nor will I let my starved and eager spirit doubt 

Or sink in discontent 
Because no answer comes. 

You promised me: some day, some way 
Will open for you, dear, to keep your word. 
So many eyes have seen — so many ears have heard. 
Moses, Elias, Matthew, Mark and John — 
Paul and Cornelius, Buddha, Swedenborg — 

All talked with Angels. 
Science, which once denied, now patiently investigates. 
I do not seek alone. 

And I will knock upon the door of heaven 

And shake God's window with the hands of prayer, 

Asking for those old Angels, wise with centuries 

Of large experience, to come to you, 

Oh my beloved, and to show you how 

To keep your promise, made in solemn faith — 

To bridge the River Death, 

And rend the veil between. 
So many ears have heard — so many eyes have seen — 

Why not mine own ? 
I do not seek alone — 

You promised me. 

Written in California, 19 16. 

Over and over, solemnly and sacredly, during three decades 
of years had the promise been made to me. There was be- 
lief and faith in my heart that it would be kept. Yet the awful 
days went into awful weeks and months, and there was no 
rift in the clouds, no blowing aside of the dark curtain, no 
sound to break the killing silence of empty space. 

Somewhere beyond all this I believed my Robert was living 
and loving me and longing to communicate with me. I knew 
it must be so. I knew the mere cessation of breath in the 
body could not destroy such a mighty love as ours. The or- 
thodox idea that he was singing in the heavenly choirs about 
the throne where God and Christ sat in glory, or that he was 
lost to me until the resurrection, lying "asleep in Jesus/' were 
both repellent. The Christian Science idea that he was ab- 
sorbed into the Infinite Spirit, and merely lived as a part of 
that, left me cold and desolate. That wonderful individuality, 



348 THE WORLDS AND I 

even that wonderful personality, I felt, still existed, and with 
them, memory and love. 

I believed with my brain, but the soul of me cried in an- 
guish for the proof, the proof. Other people, so many other 
people of sane minds and clear intellect, told me they received 
proof of the continuity of memory and love from souls gone 
onward. 

I knew that in searching for proof of continuity of life, love 
and memory on the other side of the grave, and for means of 
communication with those who had gone across, I was plac- 
ing myself in goodly company. The world had advanced and 
its ideas had enlarged since my early girlhood, when to speak 
of the subject of spirit messages savored of insanity. 

I knew that during the last decade many of the world's 
most gifted and brilliant men and women had entered into this 
Search for the living dead. 

Sir Oliver Lodge, Lombroso, Flammarion, Sir Alfred Tur- 
ner, Maeterlinck, Conan Doyle, Lillian Whiting, Elsa Barker 
were but a few of the shining names associated with this study. 
Since the first year of the great war the ranks of the Searchers 
after proofs of life have grown almost as rapidly as the ranks 
of the destroyers of life. The ancient ideas of life to come 
have ceased to satisfy hearts torn with anguish. Intelligent 
minds refuse to believe that no revelations have been accorded 
to mortals since the days of St. John and that no true state- 
ments have been made by men who claim to have spiritual vi- 
sion since Bible days. The words and writings of modern 
mystics — Besant, Leadbeater, Fechner, Steiner and others 
whose lives have been devoted to spiritual study, have awak- 
ened the thinking world, even as the revelations of Sweden- 
borg awakened it to a larger understanding of what life after 
death might mean. 

Sir Oliver Lodge's recent works have all been frank avow- 
als of his belief in spirit communication : and from every part 
of the world I had for several years received letters on this 
subject from men and women of mental prowess and high 
moral character. 

Therefore I knew I was in worthy company, however many 



THE SEARCH OF A SOUL IN SORROW 349 

personal friends might be left by the wayside as I pushed for- 
ward to the truths waiting to be proven. 

While I might regard with unabated affection old friends 
who had no understanding of the new spirituality, yet only 
people who had thought on these subjects really interested me. 
I listened to what they had to tell me, as one perishing from 
thirst might listen to tales of running brooks near by. Then 
I went forth to search, search, search for the experience which 
should cool my own burning thirst. Every breath was a 
prayer for Light and Knowledge. I woke with prayer — I lived 
in prayer, I fell asleep in prayer. I went to California, that 
center of spiritual research. At first I sought only the Wise 
Ones, the Theosophists. Being a Theosophist, I understood 
their objections to my seeking information among mediums of 
the professional class. I was exhausted with sorrow. My 
nervous system was depleted. My will power had lost the 
reins of guidance. In such a condition, if I went to a psychic, 
whose controls were on the lower astral planes, as so many 
are, I would easily become the prey to some unfortunate obses- 
sion. "Wait until you are stronger," the Wise Ones said. 
"Then seek a psychic who is a trained clairvoyant, understand- 
ing the laws of the spiritual planes, and who will bring only 
the best influences to their own and your aid." 

I read the works written by the Wise Ones, and was helped 
and given strength to endure the days. "The Invisible Worlds 
About Us," by Rogers; "The Inner Life," and "To Those Who 
Mourn," by Leadbeater; "Death and After," by Besant, and 
"The Outer Court," that sacredly beautiful book, by the same 
author; "Our Life After Death," by that subtle German mystic, 
Fechner; and the profound works of Rudolph Steiner and 
Mabel Collins. All these books helped me. All reiterated 
what I already knew, that excessive sorrow and constant weep- 
ing prevent the spirits of those we love from manifesting them- 
selves to us and disturb their peace and progress in God's 
world. To regain my poise and build up my depleted nervous 
forces, I went to "The Home of Truth," a metaphysical col- 
lege, where ten lovely women, teachers, healers and students 
under Anna Rix Militz, lived beautiful and helpful lives. It 



350 THE WORLDS AND I 

was my home until I became more normal, yet it gave not the 
answer to my inquiring grief. They cast no light on Robert's 
realm. The members of that household comforted my heart 
and endeared themselves to me forever. But the search of a 
soul in sorrow did not end there. Wonderful cures were 
performed on the sick, but the sickness of my soul was not 
cured. 

I visited the Rosicrucians, a noble and intellectual com- 
pany of people with high ideals, leading ascetic lives; their 
influence can be only good and uplifting for the race, yet 
they shed no new light upon my path. I went to the little 
waning colony of Oshaspians, a strange and earnest handful 
of men and women, following altruistic ideals, but leaving 
me sadder than before I visited them. They seemed to have 
eliminated from life on earth all idea of beauty. 

I went one day to hear a famous divine in the orthodox 
Christian Church. His whole Sunday morning was devoted 
to a furious attack upon all other organizations save the ortho- 
dox Protestant Church. He ridiculed and attacked Christian 
Science, New Thought, Theosophy, Spiritism, and sent me 
forth disgusted and melancholy. This is not the spirit of 
Christ, my Elder Brother, as I know Him and love Him — He 
who passed through all earth incarnations and became at last 
one with God, as each of us must eventually — He who left 
his beautiful example for us to follow when He said, "Love 
one another." 

One day there came to me a letter filled with comfort. 
Years previously I had met in New York Rev. Frederick Kee- 
ler, a man possessing both natural and trained clairvoyant pow- 
ers. He had given me a most interesting reading at that time, 
foreseeing certain developments in me which afterward proved 
true in a peculiar way. Mr. Keeler wrote me a letter of sym- 
pathy and informed me that he had been able to put himself 
in touch with the beautiful spirit which had made my earth 
life so blest; that he was seeking to communicate with me and 
would when I attained my poise; that he was adjusted to his 
new realms, and was often near me, striving to comfort and 
help me. The letter from Mr. Keeler was like a spiritual tonic, 



THE SEARCH OF A SOUL IN SORROW 351 

and gave me an influx of courage. I began to visit reputable 
psychics. Many interested me, some distracted me, a few com- 
forted me with what seemed real messages from the Great 
Beyond. Others gave only what might have been read from 
my mind. Still others gave the babble of the elementals. None 
of them satisfied me. One man gave me my first illustration 
of that curious phenomenon, "precipitation." He sat at one 
end of a room flooded with southern California sunshine, I 
at the other. On a table beside me were fifty or more slates. 
He told me to select two and strap them together (after spong- 
ing them well) and to place them under my feet. Then I was 
instructed to take a sheet of paper from the table, write the 
names of three people who had gone away from earth, and 
ask one question ; to seal this in an envelope and hold it in my 
hand. I held this for a half hour, while the man with the 
occult power sat quietly writing at the opposite end of the 
room. Suddenly he said : "Look at your slates." 

I looked at the slates and found a forget-me-not flower, in 
water colors, on one corner, and both slates were filled with 
a message signed by my husband's name. No human hands 
had touched the slates. They were blank when placed by me 
under my feet. Yet I was not thrilled or stirred. I was 
deeply interested in the phenomenon. I knew it was a genuine 
phenomenon, known to occult students as "precipitation." It 
is a peculiar mental power which enables the possessor of it 
to obtain facts from the sitter's mind, and precipitate them 
upon paper or slates. This man had used the three names I 
wrote on the slip of paper, no others. He had seen, and read, 
clairvoyantly ; and that is miracle enough to convince any 
save the utterly ignorant bigot that our minds are independ- 
ent of our mortal organs of sight, touch and hearing. But 
what this man had done did not, to my thinking, prove that 
he had any connection with the realm of spirits. I did not 
believe for one instant that my husband had sent the message. 
It was not the message a spirit, longing for months to com- 
municate with the dearest soul on earth, would send when 
first the door was opened. It left me utterly cold, and simply 
curious. For twenty years this man has been producing this 



352 THE WORLDS AND I 

kind of phenomenon, and puzzling the minds of investigators. 
It is interesting, but has no bearing on life after death, save 
that it proves the independence of the mind in the body, and 
naturally suggests its continued independence out of the body. 
I met an eminent attorney afterward who told me he had been 
studying this "precipitant" for a period of twenty years. He 
had a chest specially devoted to slates filled with these mes- 
sages: he carried his own slates, and the psychic never 
touched them. The Psychical Research Society of London 
has been considering an investigation of this man's peculiar 
powers. No pencil was placed between the slates, yet the mes- 
sages came, clearly and distinctly written. The doubting rea- 
soner, who questions every statement which he cannot explain 
with his five senses, will say that the slates I placed under my 
feet were prepared chemically by the medium before my ar- 
rival. He will be very sure that the man knew who was 
coming and knew my name and that of my husband. But 
could he know that I was to write the name "Martha" on the 
slip of paper? 

For the education of Mr. Reasoner, I will add to my 
own experience that of a friend who went with me. 
She was a lady in private life, and she was mourning for her 
beautiful daughter, Zaida. She preceded me into the room and 
had her sitting before I went in. She went through the same 
formula; selected her slates and placed them under her feet, 
took her slip of paper and wrote thereon three names : that of 
her father, long dead, and Zaida. At the end of a half hour 
her slates were filled in the main with messages from her 
father (doubtless because her father's name came first on the 
slip she held in her hand) and only a line at the bottom was 
signed "Zaida." The messages brought her no satisfaction, 
but her experience proved that neither she nor I were hypno- 
tized, and that we did not imagine what occurred. No slates 
could have been prepared before her coming, for so odd a 
name as Zaida would hardly have been expected by the me- 
dium to be demanded by a sitter. It was only additional proof 
that the medium depended upon our minds and upon what 
we wrote upon the slip of paper (which his mortal eyes did 



THE SEARCH OF A SOUL IN SORROW 353 

not behold, but which he nevertheless saw clairvoyantly) to 
produce his message, precipitated upon the slates. A marvelous 
power indeed it is which this man possesses, but it did not 
bring me nearer to Robert. 

Another medium, a little old lady, with a grandmotherly 
personality, produced messages for me in the clear light. I 
took my own slates, and she held them in my view, just under 
the table edge, because she said her controls needed to have 
the slates protected from too clear light, as the negative of a 
photograph has to be developed in a dark room. Many scrawly 
messages came, but they seemed to me the work of very crude 
elementals on the astral plane. My husband's name was 
written and the usual banal messages which come from that 
sphere where the undeveloped entities dwell. I received no 
enlightenment from them. 

One of the most interesting psychics I met in the 
search of my soul through the valley of sorrow was 
John Slater. He is a man of high moral character, 
and clean life, a man who has given demonstrations of 
his remarkable clairvoyant powers all over the earth, and 
whose messages breathe the spirit of the higher spheres. Mr. 
Slater gave me much comfort, assuring me my husband was 
near me, and that as soon as my turbulent state of mind grew 
calm he would be able to communicate with me. "You 
do not need to visit mediums and clairvoyants," Mr. Slater 
said. "Save your time and money by staying quietly in your 
own room, and through prayer and concentration attaining 
that state of tranquillity which will enable your husband to 
reach you." Mr. Slater did not know who I was, and had he 
known he still would not have known the facts which he pro- 
ceeded to state. "You do not belong in California," he said. 
"Your home is distant from here. Your environment here is 
not congenial. Its atmosphere is antagonistic to progressive 
spiritual thought. Your husband can never reach you clearly 
and positively until you return to your home. Then he will 
come. Meantime you will receive other assurances than mine 
of his proximity before three weeks pass." 

I did receive other assurances, but not proofs, while in Cali- 



354 THE WORLDS AND I 

fornia. Two lovely cultured women, sisters, living quietly in 
Los Angeles, were both clairvoyants and mediumistic. They 
gave their services to friends in sorrow, never accepting money. 
They came to the house of a dear friend who had little knowl- 
edge of things psychic, and who was rather timid regarding 
such manifestations. She allowed me to see the psychics in 
one of her rooms. There were four investigators and two 
psychics. The room was darkened, for the reasons given 
above. We formed a circle about the small center table, clasp- 
ing hands. On each side of the two mediums sat an investiga- 
tor. Had the circle been broken we would have known. There 
were flowers on the table and a small trumpet. Voices spoke 
through the trumpet and the flowers were drawn from under 
my hands and pinned in my hair. Soft touches on my head 
and arms, and soft whispers in my ears sent thrills through 
me. Yet I did not feel that my husband was there. In truth 
the voice which spoke through the trumpet claimed to be the 
voice of the father of the two sister mediums ; and he spoke my 
name, and said my husband was trying to reach me, but was 
not yet strong enough in his spiritual powers to achieve the 
desired result. "To reach a material world by immaterial 
means is not easy," he said. "It requires study. Your hus- 
band will come to you when you return home. He bids me tell 
you this." 

I felt after this experience that I had been given real spir- 
itual messages of a high order, yet that which I sought had not 
come to me. In the home of Hon. Lyman Gage at Loma 
Lodge, San Diego, very interesting phenomena, trumpet voices, 
and other demonstrations were given one evening by a pro- 
fessional medium. Again I was interested, and my feeling 
of loneliness and desolation was lightened. But I was not 
convinced. Hon. Lyman Gage had been an investigator and a 
believer in spiritual communication for more than fifty years. 

I met that wonderful man of ninety-five years, J. M. Peebles, 
scholar, traveler (he has compassed the earth five times), lec- 
turer, and famed for his lifelong proclamation of the truth 
of spiritual communication, and was strengthened by his con- 
versation on the all-absorbing topic. Mr. Peebles, nearing the 



THE SEARCH OF A SOUL IN SORROW 355 

century mark, has perfect hearing and excellent eyesight, and 
his magnetism and eloquence affect all who approach him. He 
writes with vigor and power. One very dear friend of mine 
in California, who held crude ideas on subjects psychic, grieved 
over my interest in spiritual research, lest I lose my health and 
my mental powers. I pointed to Mr. Peebles as a reassuring 
example of a seeker in the occult realms of study. 

Mr. Peebles advised me, as did my Wise Ones, to avoid 
ordinary seance rooms and circles, and to place little faith in 
the average professional medium, because so soon as a money 
consideration enters into a spiritual power that power becomes 
vitiated. We have seen this proven many a time in the ortho- 
dox Christian Church. Young clergymen filled with the love 
of God and man, and desiring to lead a holy life, have been 
placed in fashionable churches, where their silence on certain 
ideas dear to them, or their clinging to worn-out dogmas, 
meant their continued salary: and we have seen these men 
of God become mere men of society, growing in popularity 
with their congregation, but growing farther and farther from 
God. So the psychic, who follows his profession for a live- 
lihood, sometimes opens the door of his mind to the devils 
of greed. 

I met Dr. Austin, who was once upon a time a minister of 
the gospel, after having graduated from a theological college. 
From this position he was asked to resign, because he an- 
nounced his belief, through remarkable experiences, in spirit 
communication. Dr. Austin became a preacher of this faith 
and an editor of a mazagine devoted to the subject. He and 
his lovely daughter assured me I would one day find that 
which I sought. Their own experiences had been so numerous 
I could not question their truth, but why did they not come to 
me? 

During that year of the search of my soul in the valley of 
sorrow, I was newly and painfully impressed with the spirit 
of intolerance and prejudice rampant in so many religious 
organizations. 

Each little or large center which I approached seemed more 
anxious to convince me of the falsity of all other roads which 



356 THE WORLDS AND I 

claimed to lead to God than to cast light upon my troubled way, 
or comfort on my aching heart. From the orthodox Chris- 
tian element came the most bitter opposition to anything which 
deviated one jot from its own ideas, forgetting how absolutely 
all those ideas depend upon spirit miracles for a foundation. 
Yet among church members of various denominations I found 
large souls who had developed into an understanding of the 
great truths which vibrate through space to-day. One was a 
communicant in a prominent church, the leader of its hundred- 
voiced choir, and a man whose mental, moral and artistic 
qualities made him a distinctive character. This man pos- 
sessed psychic powers to a marked degree, and had been 
brought prominently before the public eye in this respect 
through a curious incident. At a church picnic one of his 
choir had used an ordinary camera and "snapped" the choir 
director as he stood under a tree. When the picture was de- 
veloped a most remarkable phenomenon was observed. Di- 
rectly above the figure was a clearly defined head of Dante, 
an exact duplicate of a marble bust in the studio of the choir 
director. At the left appeared a face so strikingly like that of 
the director's dead father that a member of his family grew 
faint at sight of it. Several other faces were outlined: one 
very much resembling the photographs of Longfellow, the 
poet. The director had been for months making a careful 
study of Dante's works, with the hope of writing fitting music 
for some of them. The head which appeared in the photo- 1 
graph was, according to theosophical lore, a "thought form," 
one which the musician's mind had impressed so powerfully 
on the ether that the camera had been able to reproduce it. 
The face of the father was quite another thing: an unques- 
tionable spirit face, "caught in the act" of visiting earth. 

Etheric and vibratory conditions chanced to be just right 
for this most interesting result. 

The photograph caused a sensation among the friends of 
the director, and the newspapers heard of it and one repro- 
duced it with an interview in which the director talked freely 
of matters spiritual. Thereupon the church elders, deacons 
and pillars of traditions called a meeting, with the intention 



THE SEARCH OF A SOUL IN SORROW 357 

of having Mr. Director apologize, recant, or resign from the 
church, because, forsooth, he had believed in things upon 
which every religious organization on earth is founded — viz., 
spirit appearances on this sphere. 

Mr. Director calmly asserted his knowledge of these facts: 
and told of many occasions in his life where he had been in 
touch with spirit realms and had received help and strength 
from spirit friends. So firm and strong and unwavering were 
his statements that his clergyman put an end to the "trial" 
and even preached a sermon soon thereafter speaking of this 
subject leniently, if not favorably. 

I was given a copy of the spirit photograph, and it and the 
story as related to me by the director himself were my first 
proofs that such things as spirit photography really existed. 
That was a phase of spiritism which had seemed questionable 
to me. Later I investigated many other cases of spirit pho- 
tography, and became fully convinced that under certain 
etheric conditions, and with the right personalities producing 
right vibrations, such pictures are obtained. Efforts of my 
own in that direction, however, were failures. The musical 
director whose story I have related was one of my most com- 
forting and sustaining friends. He assured me that the hour 
would arrive when that which I sought would come to me. A 
soul which made his earth happiness, gone on a decade ago, 
came to him continually, he said, and gave him counsel and 
enlightenment. His advice was, "Go about your duties, do the 
tasks nearest, meditate and pray, be faithful to your musical 
studies, conquer your grief, trust in God, and wait till your 
illumination comes. To some it comes in one way, to others 
in other ways, but it will come to you. ,, Surely it would not 
seem that a man holding such views needs to be excommuni- 
cated from a Christian Church ! Yet he said to me, "My views 
on spiritual subjects have led to much persecution, and the 
most bitter of all has proceeded from my own Church/' 

The greatest tolerance and liberality toward other organiza- 
tions of all kinds which I encountered in my search was in the 
Krotona Center of Theosophy. They had few words of criti- 
cism for anything or any one, preferring to see and talk of 



358 THE WORLDS AND I 

the good latent in all human nature. Opposed to spiritualism 
which degenerates into fortune telling, and which delays the 
souls of those gone on by continual appeals to return for 
trivial purposes, they yet approved of my investigations into 
the occult, knowing my purpose was not a selfish one and 
knowing any truths which came to me from any source would 
not be misused, or abused. They even accompanied me in 
some of my investigations, and helped me to discriminate be- 
tween mere mind reading, chatter of elementals from the 
borderland, and messages from higher planes. 

And they helped me to wait. And to grow while wait- 
ing. During all those long months I was not forgetting my 
life motto of service. I knew that the lords of Karma de- 
mand service of us while we pass through the valleys of tribu- 
lation, as well as while we walk on the hilltops of joy. I 
sought to help others who came into my daily life in all ways 
possible for me. To do that which would be pleasing in the 
sight of God and the generous soul gone into His keeping, was 
my effort. There were no longer any worldly pleasures which 
lured me. I had no ambitions for personal achievements of 
any kind. Light on my path, knowledge of God and Robert, 
service to humanity — these were all I asked. I devoted hours 
each day to meditation and prayer. I made a paraphrase of an 
old Moody and Sankey hymn, and began my meditations 
with it. 

Oh, I am nothing, nothing — 
I only can lie at His feet: 
A broken and emptied vessel 
For the Master's use made meet. 
Broken that He may mend me, 
Emptied that He may fill : 
Teach me, O God in the silence, — 
How to be still. 

That is the great need — to know how to be still in the si- 
lence until we receive the messages waiting in space to be de- 
livered. I knew this was my need. Yet after trying to still 
the pain and the sense of loneliness exhaustion followed. And 
the messages could not be delivered. 



THE SEARCH OF A SOUL IN SORROW 359 

There was another hymn I loved away back in the old sing- 
ing school days of my early girlhood. I had loved it and sung 
it. Now I said it every morning as an ending of my first 
devotional exercises and a beginning of the long day. 

Guide me, O Thou Great Jehovah, 
Pilgrim through a barren land : 
I am weak but Thou art mighty, 
Lead me with Thy powerful hand. 
Though I wandered Thou hast found me, 
Though I doubted sent me light ; 
Still Thine arms have been around me, 
All my ways are in Thy sight. 
Bread of Heaven, Bread of Heaven — 
Feed me from Thy bounteous store. 
Bread of Heaven, Bread of Heaven — 
Feed me till I want no more. 

To me this "Bread of Heaven, ,, meant knowledge of Rob- 
ert: that knowledge which he had over and over promised 
should be given, with God's consent. There was a store- 
house of evidence to me, that other seekers for this knowl- 
edge had been fed by the Bread of Heaven. Every day this 
evidence increased, yet it did not come to me. It must. 
Every morning at "The Home of Truth' ' Mrs. Militz and 
her students and teachers held a half hour silence 
meeting. While I did not attend any of their classes, or 
take up their studies (already familiar to me) I always par- 
ticipated in the half hour of silence. I found the vibrations 
stimulating and uplifting as they must be where a number of 
pure and unselfish souls are gathered together in His name. 

Mrs. Militz usually gave a thought for us to hold in the 
silence; sometimes I accepted it, and sometimes I selected my 
own thought. One morning shortly before I separated from 
this lovely home to go elsewhere, the sentence given was, "I 
am the living witness." Mrs. Militz amplified the sentence 
to apply to her philosophy, but I amplified it to meet my own 
needs. I composed a little Mantra, which was as follows: 

"i AM THE LIVING WITNESS \ THE DEAD LIVE : AND THEY SPEAK 
THROUGH US AND TO US : AND I AM THE VOICE THAT GIVES 



360 THE WORLDS AND I 

THIS GLORIOUS TRUTH TO THE SUFFERING WORLD. I AM 
READY, GOD. I AM READY, CHRIST. I AM READY, ROBERT." I 

have never failed one day since that morning to repeat my 
assertion. In the next chapter will be related when and how 
and to what extent has the spoken word been verified. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

The Keeping of the Promise 

TT is never quite safe to make positive assertions regarding 
-■- our capacity for suffering. I once knew a woman to say 
she could bear every kind of sorrow but one kind. That, 
she said, she could never endure. Yet that was given her, and 
she had to endure it. 

When I went away to California, I had said, "Life has no 
new pain to offer me ; I have received its supreme blow." Yet, 
during the next sixteen months I found that life held other 
blows for me, and that I could still smart with pain. In that 
land of bloom and beauty, I found souls welling with God's 
own sympathy and love, and by many old friends, and many 
new ones, was consoling kindness poured upon open wounds, 
and never to be broken ties were formed that will unite us even 
beyond this earth. Yet, from some sources where the greatest 
understanding, sympathy and affection were expected only 
cold neglect and indifference came. And from some of those 
to whom, in my anxiety to be of service, I had given my heart 
to put under their feet, came unbelievable cruelty and unkind- 
ness. 

I found that I could still suffer, and wondered why these 
seemingly needless hurts were given to one already bleeding at 
every pore. But now I have come to understand God's pur- 
pose. Holding in store for me the greatest gift the Lords of 
Karma have to bestow to those on earth, God wanted me to 
cast away, one by one, every prop on which I leaned, and to 
break every tie which bound me to material things, or held 
me closely to earthly affections. To no one and nowhere 
must I look for comfort and help, save to God Himself,, and 
the realms where dwell the souls released from earth. 

In a previous chapter, I have said that the last book Robert 

^~ 361 



362 THE WORLDS AND I 

and I read together was "Patience Worth/' that most inter- 
esting work, called by thinkers, "The Psychic Mystery of the 
Century." "Patience Worth" was dictated through the Ouija 
Board, which Mrs. Curran and some friends in St. Louis 
were using, more as an amusement than otherwise; its very 
remarkable literary and historic value has won the attention of 
eminent scholars and thinkers all over the land. Patience 
Worth proclaimed herself a spirit that had lived upon the 
earth three hundred years ago, and her diction is of that 
period. 

This book, and others which have followed it in the same 
manner, brought the Ouija Board into new prominence, 
and gave it a dignity never before possessed by it. Many 
years ago I had owned a Ouija Board; all my interests at 
that time were on this earth plane. Family and friends and 
lover were all here; I sat with various friends, and we re- 
ceived the usual curious, erratic things which come to those 
who idly experiment in such matters. Each accused the other 
of causing the board to move; and, when convinced this was 
not just, the results were laid to subconscious mind or invol- 
untary muscles. 

This was my acquaintance with the Ouija Board, when after 
sixteen months in the valley of sorrowful search, I decided 
again to test its power as a means of communication with 
worlds beyond. I had returned from California and was at 
my home — my "Paradise Lost" at Short-Beach-on-the-Sound. 

In their artistic home, "The Terrace," next to our Bunga- 
low Court, live our very dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. W. H. 
Ritter. It is a friendship cemented by sixteen years of inti- 
mate association. They were most eager to experiment with 
me on the Ouija Board. We were disappointed when Mr. 
Ritter and I could not produce the least quiver of the 
implement. Mrs. Ritter and I had better success, but it was 
slow and tedious work ; each knew the other was not moving 
the board, and some of the sentences which came seemed very 
characteristic of the soul we were seeking. 

Of the purpose of these messages I shall speak later. Mr. 
Ritter (one of the few fine American business men who are 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 363 

awake spiritually) was more impressed with their being 
genuine phenomena than was I. I had so long doubted every 
manifestation received, in my search of sorrow, that it was 
difficult for me to feel satisfied with anything short of the 
miraculous. Distracted and interested for a half hour with 
the slowly spelled messages, I would go home and weep myself 
to sleep, wondering why my Beloved could not keep his life- 
long promise to reach me from the worlds beyond. I knew 
how souls bound by affection which is more mental and 
spiritual than merely physical long to communicate with 
those left behind, and I knew that such communication, when 
understood by those on earth and not misused or belittled, com- 
forts the soul which has gone on, and strengthens it for its 
later higher flights to more subtle spheres, I knew Robert 
would be as gratified, and as benefited, once the way opened 
for him to say "Hail," as I would be. I knew Heaven could 
never satisfy him until he came in touch with me. 

And each day I said my Mantra over and over; each day I 
prayed for light, and guidance, and knowledge of life be- 
yond. It was in late July that I wrote the following verses : 

DAILY TALKS 

So much I miss those daily talks with you, 
O my Beloved! Though you answer not, 
(In any manner that of old I knew) 
Yet will I seek in each familiar spot, 
To bring your sympathetic spirit near 

♦Where it may hear 
My inmost thoughts, in written words revealed. 
Perchance my bleeding heart may thus be healed, 
Of that deep wound this silence makes therein. 
The world has no harsh sound, no clash, no din 
So hard to bear as silence day on day, 
And night on night, the while we plead and pray 
For some faint echo from the world unseen. 

Dear, you have been 
A year and three score days lost to my sight, 
And to my touch and hearing; and despite 
My life-long faith in Heaven's proximity, 
And in communion of souls linked by love, 



364 THE WORLDS AND I 

Yet do we seem divided by a sea 
Across whose still unatlassed waters move 
Out-going silent ships, that come not back. 

Still do I watch the track 
Of that strange midnight craft, whereon you sailed. 
Believing love like yours which never failed 
On earth to keep its promises will find 
Some way to give mine eyes, which now are blind, 
Their clearer sight, and to prepare my ear 
Its message from the other world to hear. 
The while I wait, perchance you, too, wait near, 
Attentive, smiling, in the olden way, 
Beloved, day by day. 

It was in the early evening of September 10th that the door 

opened. Mrs. B , a New Haven friend, came to call. I had 

just purchased a Ouija Board of my own. At Mrs. Ritter's 
I had used hers. My board was lying on the table. I asked 
my caller if she had ever tried the Ouija. "No," she said, 
"and I should like to; I think it would be most interesting. " 
In a light and laughing mood she placed her hands on the 
Board, and in one moment the heavens opened! Both my 
caller and I were shaken by a power which beggars descrip- 
tion; it was like an electric shock. The Board seemed to be 
a thing alive ; it moved with such force that we could not fol- 
low it. I called to Mrs. Randall, who was in an adjoining 
room, to come to our assistance. She came and gave her 
whole attention to the letters; neither my friend nor I was 
able to read them, so great was the speed of the pointer. 
When the table rested, she read these sentences, "Brave one, 
keep up your courage. Love is all there is. I am with you 
always. I await your arrival!* 

When I heard these sentences read out, after experiencing 
the electric shock of their transmission, there was no longer 
any doubt in my mind. My message had come! I was in 
touch with my Robert ! He had kept his promise ! I asked 
how long I must wait in the body before going to him. The 
answer was, "Time is naught; hope for bliss with me; I am 
incomplete without you. Two halves make a whole; we will 
finish in Nirvana." 



\ 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 365 

I attempted to obtain some advice about business; the an- 
swer was, "Material things are unimportant." I then asked 
questions regarding my health. "Fill yourself with God, — 
health will come." 

This was the beginning of a series of most remarkable con- 
versations with a freed soul in the worlds beyond. And 
these conversations grew steadily in value and importance, as 
will be seen by what follows. On the next sitting, September 
13th, we had been perhaps half an hour at the Board, receiv- 
ing remarkable communications, when Mrs. B 's husband 

came in, quietly, trying not to disturb us. I remarked, "Rob- 
ert, can you tell me who just entered the room?" The an- 
swer was, "Yes." "Then tell me," I replied. Mrs. R. , 

who was acting as our scribe, said the letters seemed to make 
only jargon. They were given again, and the sentence was — 
"Quinnipiac Club, our last game/' To us this sentence carried 
no meaning, but my friend's husband, a practical business man 
and popular club man, said quietly, "The last time your hus- 
band ever appeared at the Quinnipiac Club I was his partner 
at auction." Neither his wife nor I knew of this incident. 
Surely there can be no explanation of "subconscious mind" or 
"involuntary muscles" given to this message! I then asked: 

"Robert, have you a message for your friend ?" 

Instantly the message came: "Better try some other game. 

V. W. B. quitter." I felt embarrassed, until Mr. B with 

a quiet laugh said, "That night I played with your husband 
until after midnight, when I said I must go home. He re- 
plied, 'You are a quitter; you had better try some other 
game !' " 

Again the subconscious mind must be omitted by the scep- 
tic; neither my friend nor I had any knowledge of this inci- 
dent, which was evidently repeated to Mr. B as a proof of 

the identity of the sender. 

Our next meeting was at the home of my friend. The room 
in which we sat had recently been done over in a most effective 
Oriental fashion. No sooner were we seated with our hands 
on the Board, than it wrote, "Arabian Nights' Room! 
Scheherezade." This impressed us at once, as during his last 



366 THE WORLDS AND I 

winter of earth life Robert had loaned this friend a valuable 
edition of the "Arabian Nights' Tales," and they had discussed 
them together frequently. I then asked this question : "Rob- 
ert, if this is you, tell me what are you doing in the invisible 
realms?" 

The answer was rapidly written, — "I am doing a great 
work; meeting souls shot into eternity. That is why I left 
you." Many questions were then asked and swiftly answered, 
and so remarkable was the impression left by this sitting, that 
I sent records of it to Mr. Robert Walton of California, a 
man eminent in theosophical work, then in New York. My 
first month in California had been spent in the mountain home 
of the Waltons at Nordhoff. I wrote, asking Mr. Walton to 
come and be a witness of the messages we were receiving, and 
to use all his analytical powers in studying them. Mr. Walton 
came, and the sitting took place in my home. Mrs. Randall 
was as usual the scribe, and Mrs. Davies-Jones was a witness 
of the test conditions under which the messages came. I pro- 
posed that Mrs. B and myself be blindfolded during the 

sittings, in order that no least suggestion might come to the 
mind of Mr. Walton that we in any way influenced the Board. 
This was done and the messages came as swiftly and power- 
fully as before, the pointer moving with unerring certainty 
to the letters. So remarkable seemed the force that I spoke 
of it, and the Board wrote, "Scota is helping to-night." We 
had no idea what this meant, but in later sittings we became 
very familiar with "Scota." I asked why, since the commu- 
nication seemed so fully established now, had he not come 
to me during those terrible months of lonely search. At once 
came the reply : 

"Your tears hung a veil between." 

"Tell me what your life is like now," I questioned. 

"The same life, only used more intelligently." 

I asked if he had met a friend who had died recently. "No, 
he is not on my plane; my work is different, meeting souls 
shot into eternity. All is confusion for them. Equanimity 
is my gift; I supply it to those killed in the shock of battle." 

This sentence, strange as it sounded, did not seem incom- 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 367 

prehensible to me. Every student of occult lore knows that 
the Episcopal prayer, "From sudden death, O Lord, deliver 
us," is founded on a knowledge that souls driven from the 
body by sudden death suffer from fright and confusion on the 
astral plane, and that it requires the aid of older spirits and 
messengers of God to convince them they are out of the 
body. In my husband's early business career he had always 
been sent by his firm to bring order out of chaos where 
unpleasant entanglements existed. 

Equanimity was his gift here, and it would follow as a 
matter of course that it was his possession there. 

Ques. — "Can you give me the name of a distinguished 
guest we have here?" (I was referring to Robert Walton.) 
Ans. — "Mine." 

I asked if he would give us the names of those who were 
associated with him in his work on the astral plane. "It is 
forbidden." 

I asked if he would help me to retain health while on earth. 
"I am but an instrument in His hands. Health is of the soul" 

Reminded that once, through Mrs. Ritter, he had suggested 
my taking some treatment, he wrote — "Means are not to be 
despised." 

Ques. — "How can you attend to your work of meeting 
and helping the souls of soldiers, and yet come at once when- 
ever my friend and I sit together?" "Spirit is omnipresent, 
Love is my guide, love is all." 

Ques. — "Do you long for the time when I shall leave my 
body and be with you?" "Yes; Devachan is a state of bliss 
unalloyed." 

Mrs. Randall found no meaning to the word, but Mr. Wal- 
ton explained that it was the theosophical word for heaven. 
I then said, "But you will not go so far ahead in your heaven 
world, Robert, that you cannot meet me when I come?" Ans. 
"I will meet you ; how could you have bliss unalloyed without 
me? Everything you long for will be given." 

I asked if he could give a message or a word that would 
indicate the presence of another guest. I was referring to my 
harp teacher, Mrs. Davies-Jones. The room had become 



368 THE WORLDS AND I 

very warm, and we had removed the bandages from our eyes, 
as the sitting was nearing its close. The pointer moved to 
H-A-R- when I interrupted and said, "I think it must mean 
harp." Emphatically the pointer went back and wrote 
harmony. My suggestion was scorned, and my interruption 
rebuked. 

On another occasion while messages were coming rapidly, I 

had spoken to Mrs. B , and the pointer rushed to form this 

sentence : "Ella, stop interrupting" : then added, "Ella is 
scolded!" After one of the early sittings, I had written the 
two sonnets which follow : 

At last! at last the message! Definite 
As dawn that tells the night has gone away. 
The silence has grown eloquent with it, 
The silence that late filled me with dismay, 
So dumb it was; triumphant now I sit 
So near to God and you I need not pray. 
For only words of thankfulness were fit 
For this estate wherein I dwell to-day. 

You live! you love me! You have heard my call, 

And answered it in your own way. The proof 

So satisfies the soul of me, were all 

The hosts of earth henceforth to stand aloof 

Till I recanted, my reply were this : — 

One men call dead, has sent me messages. 

my Beloved! Through these months like years, 

1 know you might have reached me sooner here 
Had I not blurred the trail by storms of tears. 
And yet, how could, how could I help it, dear? 
Now you have found a way to make God's spheres 
Seem very intimate and very near, 

And radiant my lonely path appears, 
The light you cast upon it is so clear. 

I stand victorious at the longed-for goal, 

With open vision, where I once was blind. 

And cry aloud to every suffering soul: 

"Pray without ceasing, seek and ye shall find. 

Though Science sneer, and school and church condemn, 

Your dead dwell near, you may commune with them." 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 369 

We were barely seated at the Board, on our next meeting, 
when the hurried sentence came, "Ella, send your sonnets at 
once to England: at once." (I had not mentioned to Mrs. 

B that I had written the sonnets, and they were not in my 

mind.) I replied that I had sent them to my English pub- 
lishers. The answer was, "No, to Sir Oliver Lodge ; you owe 
it to him, and the world; such proofs are rare. Though 
many doubt, seers will be convinced, and we must work to- 
gether." 

On this occasion we sat in the room where Robert's soul 
took flight. I asked, "Do you remember this room, Robert?" 
"My darling nurse, I do!" 

"Do you remember those last hours with me here?" (He 
had been seemingly unconscious those hours.) Reply — "As 
plainly as you do." 

It was a later sitting when the following questions and 
answers were received : 

"How long after your soul left your body was it before 
you woke on the astral plane ?" "Seven days." 

"Did you know when your body was cremated on the fourth 
day?" "No, my astral body was out." 

"What did you first see when you awoke?" "Your face — 
Memory." 

"What spirit first met you?" "Our son." 

"How did you recognize him, since he died when an in- 
fant?" "He was so like you." 

Asked if he had met a young friend recently deceased, he 
replied: "I see her when I wish; she is, as you know, unde- 
veloped, but safe and happy." 

Then came the parting messages : 

"Be strong ; my help is constant, I am always with you." 

I had been away on a two weeks' visit to old friends in 
Jersey. While there, very interesting messages had come 
through one of these friends, T. G. The force was not quite 

as powerful or rapid as that which came through Mrs. B , 

yet it was remarkable. This friend had never experimented 
in any occult matters. One day when very interesting per- 



370 THE WORLDS AND I 

sonal messages were coming, T. G. was called away. When 
she returned, the pointer suddenly swept several times across 
the Board, and wrote — "Make room for me, make room for 
me." 

We asked who "me" might be. The answer was, "Martha." 

Eight years had passed since Martha Jordan Fishel died. 
And this was the first intimation that we had received of her 
wish to communicate with us. T. G. was her very close friend. 
The messages that followed were intimate, and breathed of 
her characteristics. She said Robert had told her to come 
and talk to us, that she was doing God's work, and had no 
desire to return to earth. 

When I returned to my home, the first sitting with Mrs. 

B brought the following greeting. (All these messages, 

be it understood, were received by Mrs. B and myself 

blind-folded, with Mrs. Randall taking down the letters by 
pencil.) The first word spelled was "Robert," then, "I am 
glad you are back." 

Ques. "What have you to say to me?" Ans. "Great 
things ; events are shaping on your plane and mine ; our lives 
are one." 

In my first somewhat laborious messages received with Mrs. 
Ritter, there had been one most insistent message, "Go to 
France," followed by, "Take very little with you: only one 
trunk." This message came so regularly when we sat down 
that Mrs. Ritter and I both began to laugh when the pointer 
approached "G." I now, while under the perfect test condi- 
tions with Mrs. B asked if he had any suggestion for my 

winter. Instantly the answer came, "Go to France ; humanity 
has need of you. Wonderful things will happen. Your spark 
of God is greater than that of ten ordinary mortals." 

Until that message came, I had not seriously considered the 
journey to France. Then I asked if the messages received 
through Mrs. Ritter and T. G. had been authentic. He re- 
plied, "Yes, but I reach you better through Isis." This was 

a name used by Mrs. B in a humorous Oriental Society 

she had founded. Several sentences then followed so rapidly 
that Mrs. R became confused, and asked to have them re- 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 371 

written. They were spelled out slowly, and then came, "Is 
May blind ?" 

Still later, when confusion resulted from too rapid writ- 
ing, he said, "Oh, May, you make me tired." 

These very human and characteristic touches gave the expe- 
rience more reality, as did a later reproof to me, when I inter- 
rupted his dictation by speaking to Mrs. B . He stopped 

and wrote, "Ella, don't butt in." (His little imperious ways 
with me on earth, rebuking me when he felt I needed it, were 
part of his many attractions for me.) When we heard Mrs. 

R read out this sentence, we all burst out laughing, and 

the pointer scurried over the Board, and wrote, "That sounds 
good; everybody laughs." 

This, too, brought him nearer, for his delight was in having 
his home echo with laughter. (Alas! what pain he must have 
felt those sixteen months gone, when coming near me.) 

I was then contemplating writing for the Occult Review 
the chapter which has been given herein, entitled "The Search 
of a Soul in Sorrow." 

I asked him if I should do this. He replied, "I will give 
you the title of a book. Wait." We rested for a time and 
after our return he wrote : "This is so delightful; now I will 
give you the title of the book." 

"The Goal" 

Chapter 1st, "Immolation." 

Chapter 2nd, "Suttee." 

Chapter 3rd, "Juggernauth" (Insisting on the final "h"). 

Chapter 4th, "The Holocaust." 

Chapter 5th, "Sesame." 

Chapter 6th, "The Key." 

Chapter 7th, "The Goal." 

Then he went on to say, "I will write it." "When?" "I 
have begun it." 

Q. "How will you write it ?" A. "I will put the words in 
your hand." 

Q. "Alone, or with Isis?" A. "Both ways." 



^■1 

372 THE WORLDS AND I 

Then he wrote, "All you gave me, and all I gave you, 
through seven incarnations will be incorporated in this book. 
Our seven love lives live in the book. ,, I asked when we 
would begin. He answered, "At once." 

THE GOAL 

CHAPTER ONE 

Immolation 

A scorching heat, a blue mist, a tinkle of rippling water 
within the shelter of their cave. Pan and Ilia rest. How 
came they here? ^Eons ago, on Saturn, a Monad's thought 
took shape ; form, newly donned, seeks resting place. Search 
stirred into being, by divine discontent, senses vibration. In 
sympathy he vibrates, and lo ! motion is born. He rolls, rolls, 
rolls, unsatisfied. But what delicious softness is this! He 
sinks into her yielding embrace. Ages pass. O sweet mud ! 
Though you cling to me forever, yet we are not one body. 
Stirred by a great devotion, mud vibrates. The Lord of Will 
accepts her sacrifice of Ego, and bestows the gift of growth 
to solidarity upon mud. Ages pass in the process. She yields 
her attribute of softness to his hard substance; folded each 
within the other, they become one at last. Her immolation 
complete. Mates in Primos, nodules in matrix. 
End of Chapter One. 

It was not until this very remarkable dictation was read 
over carefully, that I realized its purport. It was a condensed 
exposition of the first descent into matter of the Divine Spirit, 
and "thought," which had become mineral and had been em- 
bedded in soil, "sweet mud." After aeons of time, the mineral 
and the mud became one substance. And this was the first 
incarnation of Pan and Ilia. 

As a result of an accident to their motor we had only a 
hurried sitting with Mrs. B on October 21st, 1917, at 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 3^3 

"The Barracks." There were present V. W. B. and Mrs. 
Randall. He began at once, "Ella, dearest, you are with me." 
I said, "It is too bad, Isis can only stay a few minutes." Re- 
ply, "She will come again soon." 

Then he began again on the book. I interrupted and said, 
"You'd better not write on the book to-day ; we have so little 
time." "But this is so important; wonderful impressions, pe- 
culiar combinations of atomic forces give Manu of Race this 
opportunity of sending truths hidden from mankind." 

I then asked if he could not give some one nearer me power 

to go on with the work when Mrs. B could not be here. 

"I have no control." Then I said, "I suppose it just hap- 
pens that Isis has the power with me to get your messages." 
"Nothing ever 'just happens/ " I asked if May could not 
be given the power. "May is not Isis." I asked if I could 
in any way develop myself to receive the messages alone. 
"Yes, go to our room, sit in my chair. Empty your mind and 
I will fill it. The pitcher that goes to the well, full, gets 
nothing. Keep trying, do not tire. Power comes with use." 
I asked for messages for each of us, beginning with V. (I 
did not use his name.) Reply, "V., you old robber!" This 
caused a great laugh, as at the card games Robert often called 
him that. 

For Isis, "Graciousness personified." 

For May, "A more joy-filled future." 

For Ella, "For you, my soul's bond." 

The next sitting was with Mrs. B at her home October 

24, 19 1 7. 

First sentence, "Isis has on my gift." Mrs. B said, 

"Yes, you see I am wearing the pendant Robert brought me 
from Africa/' 

Then, "Take off your wrist watch, Ella." I took it off. 
"Isis too." 

She said, "I have no watch, only a bandage on my wrist, 
where I have a burn. The doctor told me to keep it cov- 
ered." He said, "Take it off; the Lords of Love will pro- 
tect it." Then he began on the second chapter of the book. 



374 THE WORLDS AND I 

CHAPTER TWO 
Sesame 

(I asked if he had made a change in the order of the chap- 
ters. "Yes." Then followed:) 

A long rest in cosmic sleep. The hardness of our physical 
bodies is dissolved; we become pure spirit. Then comes the 
call into being. The Lords of Wisdom summon us to our 
station in the sun. Our chosen path leads finally to earth. 
Impulse to push permeates us with a quivering stream of 
compulsion. We respond and the stream flows through us 
with accumulated force. We push through that which on 
Saturn was ourselves, now far above it in evolution. We 
feel air for the first time. 

O joyous sense ! Around us are vast thick clouds of gor- 
geous color, filled with angel forms. We grow, grow, grow, 
two in one, when lo ! upon our life-filled stem unfolds a lotus 
bud, first offspring of Ilia and Pan. Our Lord of Wisdom 
smiled, well pleased with our sacrifice of sap and strength, 
and his smile took form. In that form clung our inestimable 
gift, our etheric self. Sesame to higher planes. 

End of Chapter Two 

Again I realized that a perfectly scientific explanation was 
given in this chapter of the progress of the spirit through 
the mineral into the vegetable state. Pan and Ilia were now 
a lotus tree. 

CHAPTER THREE 

(On October 22nd was dictated the third chapter.) 
Cradled in the womb of Time, we develop though we sleep, 
and when our time is fulfilled, the Lords of Motion summon 
us. We stir and struggle into astral birth on the moon. Ws 
roam, we breed, we leap, we sleep. Within our forest home, 
beneath his wattled hut, dwell Milidh and Scota, with their 
two sons, Eiram-Hon and little Arannan. They fear us not, 
nor fear we them. But to play by day and guard their sleep 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 375 

by night, become our greatest joy. In return we give them 
love and thought, and in their likeness we develop fast. 

At length there comes a fearful night. From out the forest 
depths an horde of ravening beasts, with slimy scales and 
deadly fangs. They storm the hut, with horns and claws and 
horrid din. Heedless of selves, we leap into the fray. Mighty 
Milidh gives battle to the monsters, but all in vain. He falls, 
pierced by many wounds. Before our very eyes little Aran- 
nan's bones are crushed to pulp. The sturdy Eiram-Hon, in 
terror, clings around the neck of Ilia, and cowers in her thick 
soft fur. 

With one tremendous leap Ilia gains the topmost branch 
in safety with the boy. With the fainting Scota clasped tight 
in his hairy arms, Pan follows. Sudden to our ears comes the 
dying groan of Milidh. "Save him, ,, in anguish Scota cries. 
With one impulse, animated by a desire to serve and save, we 
leap to earth, and cast ourselves protectingly on his pros- 
trate body. 

The maddened monsters, with jaws agape for flesh of man, 
thrice angered by their loss of victims two, deal us our death 
blow. With dying blessings of Milidh in our ears, we feel 
a mighty flood of power from the vast Cosmos of love through 
us flow. 

On wings of flame, the Lords of Personality appear, and on 
us bestow the great gift of Ego. Key to the goal. Humans at 
last we die. 

End of Chapter Three 

Again I realized that this was the exposition of the progress 
of divine spirit through vegetable to animal life, and then to 
human through service and sacrifice. Pan and Ilia would be 
reborn in their next incarnation as human beings. We were 
all filled with a madness of desire to know in what way they 
would appear, and in what era, when we next sat at the 
Board on October 30th. With great force the Board wrote, 
"Ella, momentous things are upon us. I have come to a new 
path. I had to decide; I will tell you all. The 'Deva' who 
protects us, called me to a choice of paths; there were two. 



376 THE WORLDS AND I 

One would open a glorious service for me. I could be a mes- 
senger for the Logos, one of his agents." I said, "What is 
the other path?" 

"Helpfulness toward earth dwellers, and those newly ar- 
rived/ ' 

I said, "You must not give up the higher work for me; I 
will be able to go on alone now, if you are called onward." 

"I could not leave you ; millenniums are before us for serv- 
ice and development, so why should I go ahead? I give you 
to-night this great proof of my love. I had to plead our 
cause with Deva, who carried the prayer to Logos. Can you 
not feel how I was torn by struggle between duty to God and 
love for my mate, my Ella ? I pleaded our oneness from Sat- 
urn to Earth and gained the favor of a little reprieve." 

I asked how long he would be able to continue giving me 
messages. 

"I do not know; they did not tell me." Then he said, 

"I want to tell you about the book. The next chapters nat- 
urally grow more complex. My idea is to give you a synop- 
sis of each chapter, thus saving time and strength. You can 
elaborate later. For me, time is limited ; means, clumsy." I 
replied, "No, I shall give it just as you send it to the public 
when the time is ripe. I wish to state positively that I had 
no part in it." 

We asked for personal messages and he wrote: 

For May, "That which the fountain gives, into the foun- 
tain returns." % 

For Isis, "A splendid destiny." 

For Ella, "Strength divine for the goal." 

Asked for a word about the war, he wrote, "If all nations 
were wiped out, yet in the plan of the root and seed Manu 
this were as naught. Everything that is, is right." 

Sitting with Mrs. B at her residence, November 12th, 

1917. 

"You are doing finely, Ella; courage!" Then, "I have 
part of the new chapter ready." 

1 said, "Shall you give it to-day?" "Not all; it takes time 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 377 

to evolve a chapter." I then asked, "How do you evolve it ?" 

"The next chapter was revealed to me by the graciousness 
of Viavasate Manu by means of pictures stored in the ar- 
chives of the universe, made by vibrations. Each object, 
each act, each thought which ever existed in any world, is 
recorded in indestructible films of etheric matter by means 
of vibration. 

"Viavasate Manu permitted me to see unrolled the whole 
picture. I saw myself and you, and all the multitude in the 
Golden City of Atlantis, and our daily lives, our friends, our 
bridal couch, the pathetic sacrifice of Rhada, High Priestess 
of the Sun, who gave herself for love of her sister Isis, the 
temple dancer, beloved and branded by Eiram-Hon, Crown 
Prince, and only son of Emperor Milidh and Scota. You 
were the lovely Princess Ilia, and I was Pan, General of the 
Emperor's army. You were the star far above my head. 
I saw the hosts of Arhinan, Lord of Evil, ruler of the nether 
world, advancing upon the city. I saw us die, murdered on 
our bridal couch. One blow severed our two heads, so tightly 
were we clasped together. I saw the incomparable Isis 
dragged from the temple crypt, and torn to bits before the 
eyes of Eiram-Hon. I saw the rod of the four Kumuras 
raised to destroy all this evil. Floods, earthquakes, storms, 
electricity, volcanic eruptions, convulsed the earth, until with 
one fearful shudder, it was swallowed up in the oblivion of 
the sea. Holocaust of the Kamuras. This is the truth." 

One month after these dictations had been received he 
asked one day, "Let May read aloud my chapters of the story; 
I will point to 'No* where there are errors, and correct them. ,, 
This was done, and like the most careful proofreader he 
went over every phrase, and corrected many punctuations and 
changed some passages. 

It was not until some months after this dictation had been 
given me, that I began the study of that remarkable book, 
"The Secret Doctrine," and found in the "Stanzas of 
Dzyan" the following description of the descent of the soul 
from the first cause into matter. 

My husband had never read this book or any other on that 



378 THE WORLDS AND I 

particular phase of our creation, so his knowledge must have 
come from the infinite realms. The stanzas read as follows: 
'The Spark hangs from the Flame (God) by the finest thread 
of Fohat (creative thought). It journeys through the seven 
worlds of Maya (seven globes of the planetary chain). It 
stops in the first and is a metal, a stone. It passes into the 
second, and behold, a plant! The plant whirls through seven 
changes and becomes a sacred animal: from the combined 
attributes of these Manu, the Thinker, is formed. Who 
formed him? The seven lives and the one life. Who 
completes him? The five sons of Mind. Who perfects the 
last body? The Immortal Being." 

At the next sitting his messages began : 

"I wish you could take May to France with you ; you may 
need an earthly friend, and May is so unselfish and devoted." 

Then suddenly, "Do you remember the time I sent you a 
telegram before we were married? You were at the hotel 
in Chicago." 

I said, "Yes, with Mrs. Talman." 

"Tell me aloud what was in the telegram." 

I replied that it was to announce his coming. Answer, 
"Yes, and I was late. Do you remember the time, shortly 
after our marriage, when I had to make long trips; how we 
missed each other, and how often I wrote to you?" 

I replied, "Yes, I do, and I remember the day before you 
started, the 29th of July, how, lover-like, you told me there 
were no other women who could compare with me, to your 
thinking." 

Answer: "Same yet, and there are angels here." 

Mrs. B remarked, 

"Doesn't that sound just like Robert?" 

Answer, "It is I." 

I said, "You know, do you not, that this is my last sitting 
with Isis, and so my last chat with you for a long time?" 

Answer, "This is not our last meeting." "You will talk to 
me many times in the future ?" "As long as you are in the 
flesh." 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 379 

I asked if I should use the Board, and also pencil and 
paper, to try and get messages. "Yes, both." 

"Is there any other way?" 

"A blank mind, so I can make a record, like the Hindoo 
seers and adepts. Practice every day. 

"How long?" "Begin with ten minutes." 
• Then we asked for good-by messages. 

"My devotion and gratitude for our Isis." 

"To May we owe more than you know." 

I asked for a little good-by word for me. "Never a good-by 
for us! Take with you, my only love, the supreme watch- 
fulness of a husband and of a lover." 

On December 19th I again visited T. G. The Board which 
had done great work for us in October now refused to move ; 

a relative, L , a church member and deeply religious 

woman, placed her hands on it and at once it was seized 

with the same tremendous power which Mrs. B had 

brought to it. L had never experimented in such mat- 
ters before. The pointer wrote with great force, "Ella, listen, 
stay where you are until Monday. Vitalize your physical 
powers for the great adventure, Monday next. Scota will 
come and talk." I asked what the great adventure might be. 

"Your message ; it will give comfort to many. The Com- 
forter will come, but you must be patient; Scota bids you 
wait. The ethereal body at this moment is in control: it 
is very near now; Robert is here. Comfort will come — pa- 
tience. To-morrow L will receive a message from me: 

remember, and vitalize for the great adventure. Your mes- 
sage will come, and give comfort to all mankind now in dark- 
ness. Listen, wait, vitalize." 

December nth, 191 7. The pointer wrote at once, with 
great force, "Ella, listen, Heaven is opened to me : I am mov- 
ing in the circle of Divine Essence, in the transcendent 
Source of all Being. God is infinite love, and His manifesta- 
tions infinite wisdom. Nature rises out of Him and we sink 
into Him. Scota had brought me into contact with Jacob 
Boehm, a great soul who has given messages. He bids me 
tell you, that you are far along on the path. The path is 



380 THE WORLDS AND I 

long and difficult, but you are farther along than most, and 
your Chela is sure that you will soon be an Independent Soul. 
Remember always our hour at dawn, and worry not, as I 
am with you. Nothing is gained by worry. Sleep well. I 
am to learn from Jacob Boehm things that you taught me 
first, but I shall see them in the full daylight now. His 
words make it seem like the sunlight in the Flower Room." 

"Can you give us any idea when and how this war will 
end?" 

"God, the center of all, controls; and the end will justify 
all." 

I attempted several more questions about the war, and was 
interrupted with, "Stop asking questions ; I will return in two 
days, Ella; wait and rest." 

We had none of us ever heard of Jacob Boehm. We 
looked in the Encyclopedia and were amazed to find two 
pages devoted to him. His philosophy was given in these 
words, "Nature rises out of God, and we sink into Him." 
This struck us as remarkable evidence of the absolutely 
spiritual source of our messages; our subconscious minds did 
not hold this knowledge. 

December 13th there was a hurried sitting, and for the first 
time the messages contained references to business. Once I 
had asked if he approved changes made in my will, and the re- 
ply had come, "Yes, ingratitude is abhorrent." Again, when 
questioned about business and its outlook, the board had writ- 
ten with seeming impatience, "This is not fortune telling." 
But on this evening I had been talking after dinner regard- 
ing my possible death abroad, and had mentioned what seemed 
to me wise disposition of my own small personal patrimony. 

A message had come to L ; then suddenly this came, "Tell 

Ella not to be in a hurry about disposing of her possessions. 
There are greater causes waiting." Asked to suggest them, 
the reply was, "I will come in two days, and advise you. 
Wait, rest, vitalize." But circumstances beyond my control 
rendered it impossible for me to remain where I was until 
Monday; I could neither wait, rest, nor vitalize. Instead I 
was obliged to take a railroad trip in zero weather, and in a 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 381 

crowded train where there was standing room only. The 
next two days found me quite ill, and so I was not enlight- 
ened regarding the Great Adventure promised. 

It seemed like scorning the voice of Heaven, but it could 
not be helped. Just as one on earth cannot transmit a tele- 
gram without an operator who understands telegraphy, so a 
spirit must depend on one who has the right vibrations to 

get the messages to earth. After I left T. G. and L , 

many friends desired sittings with me, but all failed to bring 
any convincing results until, some three weeks after this, 
Miriam French, a beautiful and gifted woman, with whom 
I had had some correspondence, called on me at the hotel. 
Deeply interested in all spiritual matters, she was much im- 
pressed with my experiences. I asked her to try the Board 
with me, and, the moment her hands touched it, it wrote rap- 
idly, "Keep this woman with you; I can work through her. 
She has the power." Mrs. French was obliged to leave, 
however, but came again the next day. The first sentence 
was, "This lady is the one for our work in hand." I then 
introduced her to him as "Miriam," and he continued, "Miri- 
am's purpose is pure; she can help you to develop so that 
you can use pencil and paper; try a few moments every day; 
it must come. Scota knows Miriam's incarnations. Be of 
good courage, for the God of the Ages is with you." 

An old friend, Lida Melhuish, had come in during this sit- 
ting, and was watching the messages for me. I asked for an 
idea regarding the poem Robert wanted me to write. Suddenly 
this came, "You might write on The Birth of Two Souls/ a 
few lines to the twins." Mrs. Melhuish started up and cried 
out, "Why, my niece gave birth to twin girls yesterday: do 
you suppose Robert means that?" 

He said, "Lida is a good sport, and Ella is the dearest thing 
on earth. Time will reveal God's plan to you. Good-night." 

In the next sitting with Miriam French, a very interesting 
message came. The first was, "Scota says Miriam was a 
priestess in the Temple of Rameses in the Egyptian period. 
Scota was then a hand maiden in the temple. She has never 
incarnated since." I asked about the husband of a friend, and 



382 THE WORLDS AND I 

said she was breaking her heart, because no messages came 
from him. 

"I never knew him on earth ; it would help if you had a pic- 
ture of him. If he came here without God in his heart it 
would make it harder for him to communicate and she must 
have God in her heart to succeed. Many come here who had 
only material desires in their hearts : they try to live the same 
way here. When they find they cannot they seek the same vi- 
brations of those on earth : they live in a cloud near earth. In- 
tense love and desire is the only way out. Desperate grief of 
those on earth makes the burden heavier for souls here. ,, I 
remarked that this seemed a flaw in God's system, as without 
some direct ray of light to prove immortal life, and with our 
dear ones wrenched away, we could not help the bitter grief. 
He replied : "It is the greatest proof of unselfishness a human 
soul has to meet." Then added, "I take you with me every 
night in your sleep, and show you the higher realms, and you 
see all I do." 

"But why do I not remember any of it?" 

"That comes with growth." 

I asked about Christ, and what he knew of Him. 

"Christ is at the head of the spheres which belong to the 
Christian era. To' see these spheres we have to ascend ; a band 
of Devas took me, and then I only glimpsed His glory." 

"And do you know if Buddha, who went from earth 500 
years before Christ, has spheres belonging to his era?" 

"Yes, the region is so high that we have to raise our vibra- 
tions to approach it, and then only sense its radiance." Sud- 
denly came this message: "Ask Miriam to show you the 
small Buddha in her handbag." Miriam, who had been sit- 
ting with closed eyes during the coming of these messages 
which were taken down by Mrs. Randall, started up in surprise 
and took from her handbag a small silver Buddha no larger 
than a pea. "Ask her to open it." Opened, it revealed five 
tiny dice. I exclaimed with pleasure over this unexpected 
stunt? I wanted you to know I could look into handbags !" 
test. Then came this: "Are you pleased, Ella, at this little 

I remarked that I wished he could give us more quotations to 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 383 

verify, as he did in the Jacob Boehm incident; at once came 
this, 

"Thou for me at Allah's shrine, 
I at any God's for thine." Moore. 

We were not familiar with the words, but afterwards found 
them in Moore's poems, with only one word changed. I asked 
if he lived in a house. The answer was, "We only have houses 
when we desire them : I am moving constantly." I asked, "Is 
it from realm to realm you move?" "Yes, and from glory to 
glory." I reminded him that once, standing on our veranda 
at the Bungalow in the moonlight he said he wanted no more 
beautiful heaven then a duplicate of our Bungalow. "Well, 
then, we will build a Bungalow," was the answer, evidently 
meaning that when I came we would desire a house and that 
we would at once build it. 

I asked if beautiful Aunt Hattie could sometimes come and 
talk to me. There was a pause, then, "Bless you, my child, 
this is Aunt Hattie." I asked whom she was with over there. 
"The light, of which you get only glimpses, shines around 
each soul : we do not see others unless they are in that ray." 
I asked if it was not a lonely life. 

"It is life as you cannot conceive it. Immortal life is doing 
the rarest duty, not always the easiest one. It is Aunt Hattie 
who gives this message." 

Then Robert came and wrote, "Unless souls are in 
the same work they do not meet. We are so busy, 
we seldom see each other; our lives are devoted to duty and 
service." I remarked that Miriam had to go, and asked for 
a parting message. He came directly to earth matters, and 
to his earth habit of looking after my health. "Take care of 
yourself, and do not take cold when you go to the country; 
wear rubbers, take fresh milk and fresh eggs every morning. 
My beloved, I am always with you, asleep or awake. We shall 
see each other again : have patience. Sit every day, alone in 
the silence, until you learn the use of the higher laws, then 
you will not need the Board. Fill yourself with God ; when you 
are developed enough I will appear to your sight ; be patient." 



384 THE WORLDS AND I 

Then — "You must not call for Scota, she has gone to higher 
realms to prepare for initiation. When she has finished her 
studies she will speak to you." 

At the next sitting I asked, "Did you see me reading over 
your old letters last night, and crying to think I never saw any 
more letters in your penmanship?" Answer. "You will not 
make any progress until you give up wanting letters." Then — 
"I have very important things to say to you." 

"Well, our minds are very peaceful and ready to receive." 

"That is good ; some one has said the Infinite is always si- 
lent, the Finite only speaks, but I want you to prepare for 
very vicious attacks made by the world on the gigantic work 
you have undertaken; many will be jealous and vindictive. 
You must write an article saying you have not received these 
messages through professional mediums or clairvoyants." 
Reply, "I have written this in the Epilogue to my Memoirs." 

"But you must write another short article at once; to be 
published right after you go away. Get Mr. Brisbane of the _ 
Journal to publish it without fail." I replied tnatl would 
do so before I slept. "Remember, your promise is recorded 
in the soundless sound." 

I spoke to Miriam then, and said with a good deal 
of emphasis that the world would have to listen to my 
story of messages received under test conditions, and their 
absolute proofs of life beyond. The Board wrote, "Tige!" 
Miriam asked what that could mean, and I replied, "It is one 
more proof, another link in the chain. Robert used to call 
me that, when I showed a bulldog tenacity of purpose. It is 
the first time I have heard the word, or thought of it since he 
went away." 

At our next meeting we were barely seated when 
the telephone called me. I returned to the sitting and 
said, "Robert, a man you met on earth is on the way up to my 
room. Tell me if you know who it is." Instantly the answer 
came — "It is a dark man from the far East — from Benares — 
the land of Krishna." It was indeed an eminent Hindoo, phi- 
losopher and scholar, Dr. Shastri, who had entertained us in 
Benares. Dr. Shastri had learned of my experiences on the 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 385 

Ouija Board, and had asked to be present with an American 

friend of ours, Dr. B . Both came in and took part in the 

sitting, Dr. Shastri acting as scribe. On this occasion both 
Miriam and I were blindfolded. We had not done this before; 
Miriam had always sat with closed eyes. I of course knew 
neither she nor I produced the messages, but a doubting friend 
had asked me if Mrs. French was blindfolded, so I decided to 
cover our eyes. We did so, and the messages came as clearly 
as before. Dr. Shastri wrote down each letter. "Good-even- 
ing ; my Ella, I love you.'* Question — "Did you talk through 

a spirit named Lottie yesterday?" Dr. B had called and 

told me that a clairvoyant girl of his acquaintance had given 
him a message from "Lottie," a friend who had died in France 
five years previously, and whom I had never known. Accord- 
ing to the clairvoyant (who had never known or seen Lottie in 

life), Lottie desired Dr. B to give me a pendant he had 

in his collection, bearing the head of Joan of Arc. She said 

R wanted me to have it, so also did Joan of Arc, who 

would watch over me in France. Dr. B had to hunt 

through his collection to find it, and he brought it to me. So 
I now asked Robert if he had sent such a message. Miriam 

knew nothing of this. "Yes, tell B I am obliged for the 

pendant; get a fine gold chain for it." I said I had thought 
of using a small silk cord. "No, a cord gets soiled so soon. 
You should get a good history of Joan of Arc to read on the 
ship and write a strong poem about her." 

Then he wrote, "Krishna told Arjina that the mind is more 
fickle than the wind." Dr. Shastri laughed and said that was 
a verbatim quotation from the Veda. I said I hoped Robert's 
mind was not so fickle. Reply, "I keep it on you." Miriam 
and I had been fussing about the bandages over our eyes, and 
twice we had to stop and adjust them. Then with emphasis 
Robert wrote, "You ask me to say great truths to you, and I 
feel I am having a hard time. As soon as I try to get a mes- 
sage over there is all this fuss and nonsense about blindfold- 
ing! I am bored; now if I have given you all the reproof 
needed, we will proceed to business." I said, "First let me 
tell you, Robert, that I understand how foolish this blindfold- 



386 THE WORLDS AND I 

ing our eyes seems to you ; you know you send the messages, 
and we know it. We only do this to be able to say to a doubt- 
ing world that we could not see the letters as they were writ- 
ten down. Dr. Shastri is also able to verify this fact. Now 
proceed with what you have to say." 

"When I first came here I was treated like a guest and 
privileged to meet many great souls; now I am an older 
resident. It is a life of sacrifice, but I come to you because 
you call me." 

Then followed a lover's quarrel between a mortal and 
a soul in space. I replied, "Do I understand that I 
am interfering with your duties? Last fall you told 
me that you had begged the Deva who has charge of us 
to be allowed to stay near and help me, because we had mil- 
lenniums for progress after I came to you. Now if you are 
tired of this, and want to go on without me, I certainly will 
never call you again." "No, no, no ! Forgive me, beloved Ella, 
my Lady of the Lilacs! I have said you were destined for 
great things, and I am going to keep my word. And the world 
will have to listen ; you are expecting messages, but you forget 
that we must have peaceful minds, and hearts filled with love 
for humanity. We must not be selfish or hurried." 

I assured him the whole effort of my life now was to be 
unselfish and patient. I then asked where he was while I was 
in such terrible anguish in California. "I had to awaken; 
you know I liked the things of earth and of flesh. I had much 
to learn, and your sorrow made a heavy burden for me to bear. 
It hung a veil between us." 

On the day preceding our departure for France, after giving 
me wise counsel about the care of my diet on ship board, just 
as he used to do when in the body, he wrote, "This is our last 
sweet message on this side. Pan and Ilia are going on one of. 
their long voyages. Remember, I shall be with you constantly. 
Now I must go to my lessons. ,, 

I asked, "What are your lessons?" 

"The cosmic consciousness." 

"How do you receive the lessons ?" 

"Through the great teachers from higher realms." 



THE KEEPING OF THE PROMISE 387 

"How long was it before you began these studies?" 

"I had to wait. I had not sacrificed enough on earth for 
humanity.'* 

I replied that his whole life was sacrifice, of time, money, 
labor, for his relatives and for me; that his whole life was 
unselfish. 

"It is not a great virtue to do for our own. We must sacri- 
fice for the stranger within our gates, for humanity. On earth 
we fashion our bodies through desires; and after we get here 
nearly every one wants to make himself over. That takes 
time, and only comes by change of desire and thought." 

"How did you go about the change?" 

"Watching others; then I got busy." Just then the Board 
seemed to be taken possession of by a different force, and the 
word "Fanny' ' was written. I asked who Fanny was, and why 
she had broken in, saying I did not like Robert to be displaced 
in this way. He answered, "I had to give way to the lady. 
It is Fanny Crosby." 

"The blind hymn writer who died a few years ago, at 
nearly ninety?" 

"Yes, and she wants you to write a great battle hymn." 

"Very well," I said. "Tell her to give me the inspiration 
while on the voyage." Then he went on with the story of his 
own progress, "Watching others, I gathered my wits together 
and asked to be taught ; then great angels came and put me in 
classes." I asked him how they traveled — what was the sen- 
sation. 

"A floating sensation ; you float, too, in your sleep when I 
take you with me. Now you had better say good-bye, as I shall 
have to leave soon. Eradicate your fears; tell B to con- 
firm the Joan of Arc matter, and get a history. May, you 
will watch out for the Lady of the Lilacs. Beloved Lady of 
the Lilacs, my Ilia, Mizpah." 

The use of the name Lady of the Lilacs is most curious. I 
had never been called that, or heard the term, till in California 
at the home of Honorable Lyman Gage I attended a private 
seance at which a professional medium officiated. One of her 
controls, "Deer Hunter," spoke through the trumpet, and called 



388 THE WORLDS AND I 

me Lalita, the Lady of the Lilacs. I asked what it meant, 
and he said they called me that in his realm: therefore it 
struck me as an odd thing when Robert used the name three 
times. Then he added this final message : "Do not talk this 
on the boat; you cannot convince people by talking about it 
openly. They will simply regard you as unbalanced. Keep 
these great truths with the dignity and in the silence of the 
great masters till the opportune time comes to give them to 
the world. Mizpah/' 

Sailed for France the following day, February 17th, on the 
Espagne. 



CHAPTER XXV 
From France 

KEEPING in mind the earnest messages from Robert to 
avoid talking of my experiences, save when the moment 
seemed propitious, I remained silent on the subject ever upper- 
most in my thoughts, until one night, ten days after my ar- 
rival in Paris. We had come over midwinter seas, seething 
with dangers, in the most ominous period of the world's his- 
tory, and the voyage had been one of the most peaceful and 
pleasant in the memory of the ship's crew. Interesting people 
made up the passenger list — people all bent on service and sac- 
rifice; and voyaging humanity appeared to me in a new and 
fairer light, recalling, as I did, other voyages taken in times 
of peace, when frivolity and dissipation often sounded their 
staccato notes on ship board. 

One night there was an auction of all sorts of objects for 
the benefit of wounded soldiers. I was asked to donate my 
advance copy of "Sonnets of Sorrow/' just published by 
George H. Doran Company of New York. I had sailed on 
the 17th of February and Mr. Doran had sent me this advance 
copy, saying the book would go on the market February 23d. 
The auction took place on February 23d, and I regarded it as 
a good augury for the future of the book, that this little dollar 
volume brought sixty dollars at the auction. Lieut-Col. de 
Billet, a French officer, was the purchaser. The spirit of lib- 
erality was everywhere on this ship, and whatever meant help- 
fulness met with generous assistance. Miss Elsie Janis was 
the life of the ship; and her charming powers of persuasion 
aided greatly in the realizing of over two thousand dollars for 
the wounded soldiers on that night. It was my first meeting 
with this lovely young American comedienne since her tenth 
year. At that time, not so very long ago, she was a child 

389 



390 THE WORLDS AND I 

prodigy, and was offered large sums by enterprising managers 
to sing a few songs each evening in New York. While little 
news girls and little slaves, in shops and factories all over 
our Land of the Free and our Home of the Brave, pursued 
their labors unmolested, little Miss Janis, carefully protected 
by her mother and only called upon to sing a few numbers 
each evening, was made a shining example of the vigilance of 
a worthy society, in its anxiety to protect our young children 
from wrong usage. Elsie Janis was told she must not sing in 
public until she reached the age of sixteen. Mrs. Janis came 
to call on me, and to ask the assistance of my husband and 
myself in obtaining for her little girl the privilege to continue 
her engagement, which meant a salary sufficient to enable her 
to receive an education later. Just what was done about the 
matter had quite gone from my memory; but here on the 
Espagne was Miss Elsie Janis, now in the splendor of her 
fame and success, and she was coming over to Europe to help 
entertain our soldier boys, by whom she is regarded as little 
short of a goddess. 

We reached Paris on the 27th of February, and it was on 
the 8th of April, just after we were settled in Hotel Vernet, 
that we had our first experience with an air raid. That night 
the siren whistle and the sound of dropping bombs and the 
guns of the barrage held no special meaning for me or my 
friend and companion, Mrs. May Randall (the friend Robert 
had selected, as will be recalled in his messages, to go abroad 
with me). We remained in our room writing letters all the 
evening, and retired before the berlogue sounded its note of 
"All clear." Indeed, when we heard that musical note, at a 
quarter to twelve, we did not know its import. However, the 
next day we drove with friends to see the place which had 
been destroyed by the German bombs, and the sight of this 
wanton destruction and the knowledge of the deaths which 
had resulted, left an indelible impression on my mind. The 
morning I left America I had received a telegram from Dr. 
Stillman of Albany, President of the Red Star Society, 
containing a commission for General Pershing. As the repre- 
sentative of the society, I was asked to learn if General Per- 



FROM FRANCE 391 

shing would accept the gift of a veterinary ambulance from 
them, costing five thousand dollars. On my arrival in Paris 
I wrote a letter to the General, enclosing the telegram. Some 
time thereafter I received a reply, saying General Pershing 
would be in Paris and would communicate with me. One eve- 
ning in March Mrs. Randall and I returned from our 
daily war duties in the Grand Palais (where with a bevy of 
other American ladies we found work to do with the conva- 
lescing French soldiers) and a letter was placed in my hand* 
summoning me to meet General Pershing in a half hour's 
time. Calling a taxi, we were enabled to keep the appoint- 
ment at the place indicated by the General, where we were 
most graciously received, and where we enjoyed a delightful 
quarter of an hour with the handsome and impressive head 
of the American Army. 

General Pershing consented to receive the gift from the Red 
Star Society, with the proviso that it should be purchased in 
Europe, to save transportation. Among the American and 
French women who met at the Grand Palais, in this rather 
monotonous and very unpicturesque, yet important, branch of 
war work, was one American who since her girlhood had been 
famed for her beauty. This was Mrs. Hatmaker. In her 
apron and cap, and in the full daylight, pouring through the 
big glass dome, Mrs. Hatmaker was a vision of beauty and 
enduring youth. Indeed, that circle in the Grand Palais was 
remarkable for its women of beauty and culture, giving a part 
of every day to hard, patriotic labor in a dull, dusty room. 
That evening, after meeting General Pershing, the siren again 
sounded, and we were urged by ladies in the hotel to gather 
with them in the room of the wife of the Paymaster of the 
U. S. Navy, Major Wills, Our rooms were on the fourth 
floor; there were two floors above us, but Mrs. Wills was on 
the third floor, and believed her rooms much safer. Whether 
bombs fell on the street or on the roof she felt her apartment 
would be protected. So ten ladies gathered there, and Major 
Wills came back and forth from his visits to the street to 
report to us the progress of the violent raid. There were 
sixty German aeroplanes in the skies, and these, with the 



392 THE WORLDS AND I 

French barrage guns, caused a noise like unto the roar of ten 
thunder storms. There was much well-controlled nervousness 
among the brave and brilliant women in that room, for all 
were women of unusual mental and social powers — all women 
engaged in serious war work. Suddenly it seemed to me that 
the psychological moment had arrived for me to tell them of 
my knowledge of the worlds which lie beyond this world, and 
of my messages from my husband. So I said, "You must not 
feel afraid or nervous — I am a mascot. I am eager to go 
out of the body, and reach the realms which are more beautiful 
and satisfying than this earth, but I have to stay until my work 
is done. That work is to make those who have ears hear what 
the spirit of my beloved husband has said unto mankind." 
Then I began to tell them of the messages which have already 
been given in the preceding chapters. 

All listened with the most intense interest; we forgot the 
bombing guns and the exploding bombs. When the berlogue 
sounded its joyous note, and Major Wills came in and said, "It 
is all over/' Mrs. Wills remarked to me, "I feel as if death 
were indeed a beautiful adventure, as if it were something to 
anticipate instead of dread. Some time you must let me try to 
obtain messages with you." Every one of trie ten women 
expressed the same wish, and all did try, during the next few 
days, but with no success, until Mrs. Wills sat down with me, 
quite alone one morning when another air raid was in prog- 
ress. Then suddenly the same mysterious power took pos- 
session of both of us which had been the forerunner of the 
messages I had received in America; and swiftly and with 
unerring directness the message was written : "A great battle 
rages on the Oise; the odds are fearfully against the Allies 
but a change will come. France will suffer terrible losses — 
later, glorious America will come in, and bring success ; boast- 
ful Germany will be beaten." At that moment neither Mrs. 
Wills nor myself knew there was a battle raging on the Oise. 
I did not read the papers, because I knew how unreliable were 
all published reports of war matters, and because I found 
myself disturbed and made uncomfortable by such reading. 
It was not, however, until the next day that the story of the 



FROM FRANCE 393 

Battle of the Oise was given in print. That day Mrs. Wills 
and I received this message written with tremendous force — 
"Ella, go at once to Dijon — at once. Terrible air raids are 
coming; a strong will tries to hold you, and a great force 
is around you. Go at once ; go to-morrow." 

The next day the command was repeated. Obstacles to a 
sudden departure from Paris seemed insurmountable. I had 
not thought of leaving the city for more than a day or two at 
a time; but I set about making an effort to get away and, 
curiously enough, every obstacle in my path melted like wax 
in a warm fire. We found ourselves on the evening of March 
26th all ready to leave Paris at six the next morning, our 
baggage gone, and our tickets bought, but we were told we 
would have to stand all the five hours to Dijon, as there were 
no compartments to be obtained. That night Mrs. Wills and 
I received this message : "Go in peace — I go with you ; with 
all my strength I am strengthening you: have no fear; you 
will be safe. Write a poem on the war as soon as you reach 
Dijon ; give new effort to your work. Do all you can to keep 
vibrations coming to this world. You are taking your first 
brave stand in your efforts to help humanity; get all together 
helping in your great work — the dedication of your life to 
knowledge of life eternal. One giving as much as you are 
giving is a glorious light in the world ; nothing shall hurt you. 
I am very near you to-night." 

I then asked for a message for Mrs. Wills, and this came — 
"This lady has made great headway ; she will cause new vibra- 
tions between us ; I can see you, dear Ella ; I am very near you ; 
be brave." Asked if I must remain much longer on earth, the 
answer was — "You must stay and do your work for human- 
ity. I will wait for you; go to bed and know you are safe." 

When I reached the train the next morning mobs of people 
filled the station, but a clear path seemed to open for us, and 
we found an empty compartment awaiting us. In Dijon 
we found much to occupy our time in visiting the American 
Hospital and entertaining the convalescents; and in going 
among the blind French soldiers, helping to distract them 
by taking them to walk and to dine and to concerts. We also 



394 THE WORLDS AND I 

visited various canteens and camps. But I had been two 
months in France before I found what Robert had meant by 
the work waiting for me, and by his puzzling words — "You 
have taken your first stand for humanity.' ' One night we 
went to a large camp, where we expected to hear a concert, 
after visiting the various points of interest and having "mess" 
with the officers. As we entered the entertainment hall three 
thousand men began to cheer. The secretary of the entertain- 
ment informed me that the men expected me to speak to them. 
Never having addressed an audience in my life, I was for the 
moment startled and even frightened; then suddenly a sense 
of power came over me, and when the secretary called upon 
me I arose and gave my first of a series of talks to soldiers, 
which have since proved extremely successful. 

The next messages which came to me were through a beauti- 
ful French woman in Dijon, Madame Soyer, who had lost her 
only son in the war a year previous. She is a most earnest 
Theosophist and a woman of much culture. She was my next 
link to heaven, and while the power was spasmodic and not 
equal to that of Mrs. Wills, it came at times with great force. 
This was especially notable one evening at the Theosophical 
rooms. A little circle of very earnest Theosophists, all French 
people, gathered every fortnight in the apartment of Miss Le- 
veque, an accomplished woman professor in a school at Dijon. 
The vibrations in her rooms were most powerful, and when 
Mme. Soyer and I met there for research our first message was, 
"Mighty forces are here, and great knowledge helps you. 
Keep the truths I give you to finish your book ; heaven is the 
goal of each soul after death, and my work here is to help 
souls. Go on in your work for humanity ; speak to the soldiers 
of spiritual things; give them courage to go into battle; tell 
them death is not the end of life, but the beginning; go to 
Tours; great new help will come to you there." I then asked 
if he knew what the 21st day of May commemorated ; this was 
the date of his death. He replied, "All life for me, and life 
universal for you." On several occasions the only sentences 
were brief words — "Get going." Finally this was enlarged 
into, "Go to many places; get new ideas; write every day. I 



FROM FRANCE 395 

will come at night and help you ; trust my powers of divina- 
tion. Help will be given the Allies ; their cause is just. Time 
will testify to all I say. Get the idea of God in your daily life ; 
learn to keep quiet; remember, life is eternal. ,, Asked if I 
should go to England June ist, as planned, it wrote, "Go be- 
fore June, go May 15th." I saw no reason why I should 
go so soon, and did not obey. When June came the German 
offensive was on and in full blast, and Paris and England were 
both impossible places to approach. My friends in London 
wrote me to stay away till things quieted. 

I had become interested in the works of Leon Denis in 
Dijon, and learned that he lived in Tours. Robert's urgent 
request that I should go to Tours decided me to make the 
journey and meet M. Denis, and if possible obtain the right of 
translating his great work, "The Problem of Life and Des- 
tiny.'' His books had been brought to my attention by a beauti- 
ful young French woman, Mile. Camille Chaise, a refugee 
from Rannes. Mile. Chaise came to Tours to spend ten days 
while I was there, and through her I met M. Denis, who was 
her friend and teacher in Occult Philosophy. She also brought 
about my meeting with Madame Colnard, another rare soul, 
widowed by the war. Madame Colnard and I received sev- 
eral messages at various times while Mile. Chaise was in the 
room. Curiously enough, we had little success for weeks 
after Mile. Chaise left us to return to Dijon, yet Mile. Chaise 
and I alone could produce no results. The laws governing 
these vibrations are evidently complicated and difficult for 
mortal minds to understand. Through Mile. Chaise I met, 
too, M. Rossignolle, author of "The New Scientific Horizon 
of Life." M. Rossignolle, now a man of eighty years of age, 
published his book under the name of "Albert La Boucie" in 
1907, after a long life devoted in the main to the scientific 
study and analysis of spiritual phenomena. The proofs which 
M. Rossignolle has found of life beyond the grave, through 
his researches, have made his philosophy a religion for him, a 
religion of reverence for the Creator and love for humanity. 

Before leaving Paris I had met through a letter from Sir 
Oliver Lodge another man, eminent in the world of psychical 



396 THE WORLDS AND I 

research. This was M. de Vesme, Editor of the "Annals of 
Psychic Science." M. de Vesme is a man past the half 
century mark, possessing high culture and a serious and ear- 
nest demeanor. The chief aim of his life is to convey the 
truths of his researches to the world at large. Soon after ar- 
riving in Tours I obtained from Leon Denis the rights to 
translate his book, and the first messages received from my 
husband after I began the work were of approval and satis- 
faction. He wrote, "Keep on with the translation. The book 
contains great truths on life and death, and will help your de- 
velopment. " At the time this chapter is being written the 
translation is half finished, and the interest of my lover in the 
spirit world is unabated. Only yesterday he wrote, "Try and 
finish the book before you return to America." 

After a period of weeks, wherein we could obtain no results, 
the power was again restored to Madame Colnard, and some 
remarkable results followed. I had been desirous of finding a 
certain order of specialist, and had been assured I could find 
one only in Paris or London. I supposed this to be the case and 
gave up the idea of further inquiries ; yet suddenly there came 
a message urging me to continue my search, and assuring me I 
should find what I sought. I made a new eflort and found 
a famous specialist in that line, living in Tours. Madame Coi- 
ned, who neither writes nor speaks English, was also unaware 
of this man's existence and equally unaware that I had made 
such a search. It was one more evidence that my beloved in 
the spirit world watches over me and helps me, with the same 
solicitude he showed on earth. One day I received a call from 
Count Gilbert de Choiseul, bringing an introduction from Leon 
Denis. Count de Choiseul informed me that he was deeply 
interested in matters occult, and I was invited to visit friends 
of his also interested in the subject. A few days later I spent 
a most memorable afternoon in one of the most beautiful cha- 
teaux of Touraine, where an interesting family of wide cul- 
ture and evident large wealth was eager to hear what I had to 
say on the subject of communication with our beloved ones in 
spirit worlds. My charming hostess and her distinguished 



FROM FRANCE 397 

mother were both in possession of incontrovertible proofs of 
such communication. 

Through Count de Choiseul I also entered into cor- 
respondence with Felix Remo, author of "The Pilgrim- 
age of Life/' and Editor of "Le Monde Invisible. ,, M. 
Remo's book is of literary and scientific value and importance. 
His letters indicate profound culture and feeling. Convinced 
by innumerable proofs of the truth of life after death, and 
the continuity of love and memory, and the possibility of spir- 
itual communication under right conditions, M. Remo is 
devoting his life to the promulgation of these ideas. At the 
time of writing this chapter I have been six months in France, 
and I can but smile, remembering the violent opposition raised 
by a number of my American friends to my coming. I 
was told that I had no right to come and take up room in ships 
and consume food needed by troops, that I had no place or 
work waiting me here. The fact of my having a literary 
reputation was declared by these friends of no value now, as 
"in times of war," so said one pert lady, "the world could get 
along very well without poetry." Mr. Arthur Brisbane, of 
the New York American, was violently opposed to my com- 
ing for the reasons mentioned. Yet having received orders 
from the astral world to come, I came. 

On the first Decoration Day of soldiers' graves ever ob- 
served in France it was my great privilege to be asked 
to write a poem for the occasion in Toursi. The 
request came from Mr. Cook, chaplain of the Y. M. C. A., 
and my acceptance was applauded by all the United States 
Army in Tours. The poem was superbly read by Major 
Pierce to an enormous audience gathered in the beautiful 
cemetery where a cluster of graves marked by a cross and an 
American flag signified the resting place of our American 
boys fallen early in the fray. The day was one of golden 
glory ; and I was able to view the wonderful picture from the 
platform where I was honored by sitting with the highest offi- 
cials, French and American, in Tours. After the ceremonies, 
consisting of brief addresses, song and reading, four aero- 
planes flew down from the clouds close to the cemetery, scat- 



398 THE WORLDS AND I 

tering showers of blossoms over the graves and over the con- 
gregation of people. It was a wonderful and impressive hour, 
and my mind went back to that first Decoration Day of my 
early youth when Major Meyers had read my poem at Madi- 
son, Wisconsin; and all the scenes of my life seemed to pass 
in review before me. 

DECORATION DAY POEM FOR SOLDIERS' GRAVES, 
TOURS, FRANCE, MAY 30, 1918 

Flowers of France in the Spring, 
Your growth is a beautiful thing; 
But give us your fragrance and bloom — 
Yea, give us your lives in truth. 
Give us your sweetness and grace 
To brighten the resting place 
Of the Hower of manhood and youth, 
Gone into the dust of the tomb. 

This is the vast stupendous hour of Time, 
When nothing counts but sacrifice, and faith, 
Service, and self-forgetfulness. Sublime 
And awful are these moments charged with death 
And red with slaughter. Yet God's purpose thrives 
In all this holocaust of human lives. 

I say, God's purpose thrives. Just in the measure 
That men have flung away their lust for gain — 
Stopped in their mad pursuit for worldly pleasure 
And boldly faced unprecedented pain 
And dangers, without thinking of the cost, 
So thrives God's purpose in the holocaust. 

Death is a little thing. All men must die ; 
Yet when ideals die, God grieves in Heaven. 
Therefore I think it was the reason why 
This Armageddon to the world was given. 
The soul of man, forgetful of its birth, 
Was losing sight of everything but earth. 

Up from these many million graves shall spring 
A shining harvest for the coming race ; 
An Army of Invisibles shall bring 
A glorified lost faith back to its place. 



FROM FRANCE 399 

And men shall know there is a higher goal 
Than earthly triumphs for the human soul. 

They are not dead, they are not dead I say, 
These men whose mortal forms are in the sod. 
A grand Advance Guard marching on its way, 
Their souls move upward to salute their God. 
While to their comrades who are in the strife 
They cry — 'Tight on ! Death is the dawn of life/' 

We had forgotten all the depth and beauty, 
And lofty purport of that old true word 
Deplaced by pleasure — that old good word, duty. 
Now by its meaning is the whole world stirred. 
These men died for it. For it now we give, 
And sacrifice, and serve, and toil, and live. 

From out our hearts had gone a high devotion 
For anything. It took a mighty wrath 
Against great evil to wake strong emotion 
And put us back upon the righteous path. 
It took a mingled stream of tears and blood, 
To cut the channel through to Brotherhood. 

That word meant nothing on our lips in peace — 

We had despoiled it by our castes and classes. 

But when this savage carnage finds surcease 

A new ideal will unite the masses. 

And there will be True Brotherhood with men, 

The Christly Spirit stirring earth again. 

For this our men have suffered, fought, and died. 

And we who can but dimly see the end, 

Are guarded by their spirits glorified 

Who help us on our way, while they ascend. 

They are not dead, they are not dead I say, 

These men whose graves we decorate to-day. 

America and France walk hand in hand. 
As one, their hearts beat through the coming years. 
One is the aim and purpose of each land. 
Baptized with holy water of their tears. 
To-day they worship with one faith, and know 
Grief's First Communion in God's House of Woe. 



400 THE WORLDS AND I 

Great Liberty, the Goddess at our gates, 

And great Jeanne d'Arc, are fused into one soul. 

A host of Angels on that soul awaits 

To lead it up to triumph at the goal. 

Along the path of Victory they tread, 

Moves the majestic cortege of our dead. 

Flowers of France in the Spring, 
Your growth is a beautiful thing; 
But give us your fragrance and bloom — 
Yea, give us your lives in truth. 
Give us your sweetness and grace 
To brighten the resting place 
Of the Hower of manhood and youth, 
Gone into the dust of the tomb. 

The next public occasion in which I took part in France was 
at the presentation of a flag by the Marquise de Rochambeau to 
the camp named in honor of her family. Given a seat beside 
the Marquise (whose two young sons were killed in war), I 
witnessed the simple ceremony, and that evening while in her 
home was requested by her to commemorate the occasion in 
verse, which I did. 

Lines Written on the Presentation of an American Banner 
to Camp Rochambeau, by the Marquise de Rochambeau at 
Tours, France, June, I, 191 8. 

Here is a picture I carry away 
On memory's wall ; a green June day — 
A golden sun in an amethyst sky, 
And a beautiful banner floating as high 
As the lofty spires of the city of Tours, 
And a slender Marquise, with a face as pure 
As a sculptured Saint; while staunch and true 
In new world khaki, and old world blue, 
Wearing their medals with modest pride, 
Her stalwart body-guard stand at her side. 

Simple the picture, but much it may mean 
To one who reads into and under the scene. 
For there in that opulent hour and weather, 
Two Great Republics came closer together; 



FROM FRANCE 401 

A little nearer came land to land, 

Through the magical touch of a woman's hand. 

And once again as in long ago 

The grand old name of de Rochambeau 

Shines forth like a star, for our world to see, 

Our Land of the Brave, and our Home of the Free. 



On the Fourth of July the American officers in Tours decided 
to give an entertainment beginning with patriotic moving pic- 
tures and a concert and ending with a ball. It came to my 
ears that the French residents were criticizing the idea of 
dancing at such an hour in the world's history. It impressed 
them as frivolous and indecorous. I wrote the following 
verses, and sent them to the committee of entertainment, who 
published them with the program : 

ON WITH THE DANCE 

We have come over death charged seas, to fight the foes oi 

France ; 
The foes of France, the foes of earth, the foes of God on High. 
Oh think not that because we laugh, because we sing and 

dance, 
We have forgotten this grave fact — to-morrow we may die. 
The ocean billows leap and lilt, when tides are at full flow, 
But never yet a wave forgot the depths that lay below. 

As David danced before the Lord, we dance now in our joy 
At being part of this great force for justice and for truth. 
Strong as the old Olympian gods that won the siege of Troy! 
We glory in our brawn and brain, and in our splendid youth. 
We glory in the right to live and use our manhood's dower, 
And if need be, the right to die in this stupendous hour. 

America holds out her hand to beautiful brave France, 
Her friends are ours, her foes are ours. On ! On, now with the 
dance ! 



This little incident served to stem the tide of criticism ; and 
on the evening of the entertainment I was asked to occupy a 
box, to which came many French and American people thank- 



402 THE WORLDS AND I 

ing me for the verses. In just two weeks thereafter our Amer- 
ican boys did indeed show their willingness to fight and die for 
France. 

Again I could not help recalling the objections of my friends 
to my invasion of France. They had said that only Red Cross 
nurses or Y. M. C. A. canteen workers were needed here. Yet 
it seemed to me that my humble muse had found on these three 
occasions a place waiting for her. Later I made a tour of 
camps and hospitals and, assisted with the recitations of Mrs. 
Randall, gave most successful entertainments to thousands of 
American soldiers, who everywhere greeted us with an ova- 
tion. Indeed, it has seemed to me that I had to come to 
France to realize how beautiful was the spirit of appreciation 
which our American boys felt for me and my work. Added 
to this is the knowledge I have gained of the great part poetry 
and verse play in the soldiers' lives. Hundreds of boys after 
our evening entertainments came to Mrs. Randall and me, 
asking for copies of various verses recited during the evening. 
Especially interested were they in those relating to the war, 
yet others of a spiritual or romantic trend, too, found favor 
in their sight. Letters of appreciation often came to me after- 
ward from the boys in the trenches, so that I knew my pert 
friend had erred in saying "the world had no need of poetry in 
war times." 

These experiences in Europe were most agreeable after some 
which had preceded them in my own land. In America my 
open declaration — first of my intention to make a thorough 
study of spiritual phenomena, and my later declaration that I 
had received absolutely authentic messages from my husband, 
met with numerous rebuffs from friends and acquaintances, 
not one of whom had ever made serious investigations in psy- 
chic science. Many of these rebuffs were simply expressed 
by a manner of cold indifference or badly concealed contempt 
when the topic was mentioned. Others were outspoken and 
combative. Some orthodox people, whom in my agony of lone- 
liness and sorrow I had reached out to for companionship, cast- 
ing my heart and my purse under their feet and asking for 



FROM FRANCE 403 

nothing in return but sympathy, showed their ideal of a tender 
compassionate Christ by turning on me with vindictive in- 
gratitude because I could not believe my Robert was asleep, 
awaiting the Resurrection morning, but alive and blest in 
God's great kingdom, and eager to commune with me. Oth- 
ers regarded me with a sort of silent pity and patient tolerance. 

Among the most intolerant of all my theosophic ideas of im- 
mortal life, and particularly of my final declaration of having 
received communications from my husband, has been Mr. 
Arthur Brisbane, the brilliant editorial writer, and orator, and 
long the golden mouthpiece of Mr. W. R. Hearst. Mr. Bris- 
bane has been my intellectual friend for fully twenty years. 
I have admired his brain and his courage and his wit. But I 
have always regarded him as what I would term a distorted 
triangle. Each human being is intended to be a perfect tri- 
angle, with a well developed and healthy body, an educated, 
thinking mind, and an aspiring, up-reaching spirit. It is in- 
deed rare to find the perfect human triangle. Many splendid 
physical specimens are dwarfed in mind and spirit. Many 
intellectual giants are weak in spirit and body. Among me- 
diums and psychics we often encounter those of rare spiritual 
knowledge who are uneducated, and frail physically. Oth- 
ers have two sides of the triangle developed finely, but lack the 
third. Mr. Brisbane belongs to this category ; he has a splen- 
did athletic body and a brilliantly educated mind. He speaks 
several languages, having been educated in three countries — 
America, France and Germany. But Mr. Brisbane has had 
no spiritual education; he has made no researches along psy- 
chical lines. These researches have engaged the atten- 
tion and made converts of such men as Lombroso, Sir William 
Crookes, Sir Oliver Lodge, Flammarion, Prof. Hyslop, Prof. 
Myers, Dr. Chas. Richet, Sir Alfred Turner, Conan Doyle, 
and a score of other eminent and highly educated men. 

No, Mr. Brisbane has made no researches. His experience in 
things psychic consists probably in some time having visited a 
cheap fortune teller; and finding nothing of further interest 
in the subject he has gone on his intellectual way, with his eyes 
resolutely turned away from these hidden paths where lie 



404 THE WORLDS AND I 

wonderful truths for man's discovery. He has listened to 
what other people of his own order of mind had to say on 
the subject, but he has shut his ears to what such great men as 
are named above have to say, while the material philosophers 
of France and Germany have influenced his thoughts. Mr. 
Brisbane reminds me of one thing. Imagine a bowlegged baby, 
allowed to use its limbs too soon, and in the wrong manner, 
brought up in an asylum filled with other bowlegged and 
deformed babies. When this baby, accustomed only to seeing 
its own kind, grows to puberty and is shown a statue of Her- 
cules, or a moving picture with Sandow doing his acts of 
prowess, the baby, grown up, says, "That's just pictures ; there 
are no such men alive; there are only bowlegged babies. " 
Mr. Brisbane boldly and egotistically (and also quite pitifully) 
says in the New York Sunday American, May 19, 19 18, 
[ "There is no real knowledge, of course, on this subject of 
death. The dead in this day do not come back. Mrs. Wilcox 
and her friends are deceiving themselves ; the spirits that are 
dead do not talk to us while we live. Mediums and others, 
some of then} sincere, more mere swindlers, impose upon the 
sorrowful." /This is exactly where the spiritually bowlegged 
baby makes his entrance in the personality of Mr. Brisbane. 

Mr. Brisbane also declares that my experience on the Ouija 
Board would have been just as successful with a "Chief from 
the Congo" as with my four friends. Perhaps so, if the Chief 
had possessed the peculiar vibratory power needed. But if 
my messages came because I so much wanted them, as he as- 
serts, why did I have to experiment with a hundred friends, 
as eager as myself, before the real power came, as I have de- 
scribed ? 

Why were the most intimate friends of both my husband 
and myself unable to obtain these amazing results, and why 
were others able to sit with me (both of us blindfolded) while 
these messages came? How could the last words of my hus- 
band to a Club friend be given when neither I nor the friend 
with me knew he had been with this man at the Club, or 
spoken those laughing words? How could a quotation be 
given from the philosophy of Jacob Boehm, when the three 



FROM FRANCE 405 

people in the room were alike equally ignorant that such a man 
as Jacob Boehm ever existed ? Eager as I have been for these 
communications, Mrs. Randall and I have never been able to 
produce any results; how would Mr. Brisbane explain this? 

We all know the good old story of the country woman, who 
had been brought up in the narrow confines of a country farm, 
and accustomed to think of animals as horses, cows and dogs. 
When the traveling circus exhibited a giraffe, she looked 
at the strange creature and turned away, saying, "There 
ain't no such animal." Mr. Brisbane's mind, despite its bril- 
liancy, is of this order. An old lady in California told me a 
droll story of herself. Living in the rigorous climate of Mas- 
sachusetts until the age of fifty, the family moved to California 
in mid-winter. Arriving at Los Angeles late one February 
night, she awoke early the next morning and, looking out of 
her window, saw green fields and joyous birds building nests in 
glorious trees. Turning away from the window, she said, 
7 don't believe it." This will doubtless be Mr. Brisbane's 
attitude after he leaves this mortal body, and faces the reality 
of the astral world. His will be a long, lonely and difficult 
path after death, because of the obstacles he has set in his own 
path of attainment. He will be astonished to find himself on 
a lower plane in the heavenly realms than many a simple, un- 
educated person he has known on earth whose awakened spir- 
ituality he regarded as proofs of ignorance. But teachers will 
be sent to Mr. Brisbane in the Beyond, and he, and every other 
delayed soul, will eventually come up into the light and knowl- 
edge and understanding of God's great universe. In truth I 
anticipate the satisfying experience of perhaps being myself 
given the role of instructor of Arthur Brisbane in the astral 
world and of hearing him say, humbly, "Oh, how I wish I had 
listened to you on earth ; I would now be so much farther along 
on the ascending path !" 

Beside Lombroso, Sir Oliver Lodge (who ranks with 
Edison), Flammarion and Prof. Frederic Myers, Mr. Bris- 
bane does not seem a giant of intellect, yet he dares 
dispute these men's statements. Frederic Myers, the 
eminent professor of Cambridge, was compared (by Prof. 



406 THE WORLDS AND I 

Flournoy of the University of Geneva) to Copernicus and Dar- 
win. Prof. Flournoy said, "Myers completes the triad of 
geniuses who have profoundly revolutionized scientific ideas, 
in the order of cosmology, biology, and psychology." In 
his "Survival of Human Personality," Myers says, "I have 
come to the conclusion slowly, and at the end of a long series 
of reflections, based on increasing proofs, that the conscious- 
ness and faculties of man assert themselves in all their pleni- 
tude after death. For every enlightened and conscientious 
seeker in this realm, there awaits logically and necessarily a 
vast philosophical and religious synthesis. / dare state that 
there exists a method of arriving at a knowledge of things 
divine, with the same certitude aftd assurance with which we 
arrive at earthly things. Through mch methods the authority 
of churches will be replaced by observation and experience; 
the impulse of faith transformed into reasonable convictions; 
and an ideal will be born superior to those which humanity has 
until now known." 

Sir William Crookes of England won the grand prize of 
Ashburton at seventeen. Then he became Inspector, Professor 
and Director successively of the Scientific Review and Chem- 
ical News, and the Quarterly Journal of Science. His achieve- 
ments and discoveries, and his classic writings in the domain 
of chemistry and astronomy, won the gold medal for him, and 
the prize of 3,000 francs. He was made an honorary member 
of all the Academies, and was ennobled by the Queen. After 
years of psychical research this man says, "I do not say per- 
haps the soul of man lives after death — I say, it does/' And 
he gives volumes of evidence. Yet to these serious and im- 
portant statements made by these men of giant intellect, after 
fourteen years of careful study, Mr. Brisbane dares give the 
lie! He dares say, "It is not so; no one has obtained such 
knowledge. Only fools and impostors assert such things." 
Surely the words of Mr. Brisbane on this profound subject 
should be regarded as the babble of the bowlegged baby who 
looks at Sandow and says, "He is only a picture ; there is not 
such a man." With all Mr. Brisbane's education, and origin- 
ality of mind, he would not think of disputing Luther Burbank 



FROM FRANCE 407 

in some of his most advanced statements regarding the habits 
of plants — results gained by long years of close study by Mr. 
Burbank, and only possible to be obtained by such study. He 
would not think of disputing some of Mr. Edison's ideas, even 
if he found himself unable to grasp their true import. He 
would allow the astronomer, doubtless, to assert facts that 
seemed well nigh unbelievable. Yet psychic science (as great 
men have said, and demonstrated) has reached a state where 
it is as exactly provable to one willing to give the same amount 
of time and patient research to it as any of the other sciences. 
It marks a man now as a bigot and reflects upon his intelli- 
gence when he makes sweeping assertions such as Mr. Brisbane 
has made in the quotation given above on this all-important 
subject of life after death. For this is the one subject of any 
lasting import. If any of us had failed to realize or had lost 
sight of the utter vanity and ephemeral nature of all earthly 
achievements, aims and pleasures, the last four years have 
served to bring home these things to even the dullest minds. 
Glorious works of art, great buildings, mighty works of en- 
gineers, proud cities, lordly empires, what are they all when 
war, earthquakes or tidal floods sweep over the world, and 
what is human life and mortal happiness but a puff of thistle- 
down on the wings of the tornado? Mighty continents and 
vast civilizations have gone down in convulsions of nature, and 
no vestige of them remains. But the souls who lived on those 
continents live still, for the soul is indestructible. As we think, 
act, and live here to-day we build the structures of our homes in 
spirit realms after we leave earth, and we build Karma for 
future lives, thousands of years to come, on this earth or other 
planets. Spiritual knowledge is therefore the one lasting edu- 
cation to obtain, the all-important subject for man to investi- 
gate while here. We can build bridges, construct cities, launch 
ships, follow the arts, establish worthy industries and endow 
colleges while we yet pursue the more profound study, of the 
spirit, and learn to know its indestructible nature, and its vast 
potentialities. Life will assume new dignity, and labor new 
interest for us, when we come to the knowledge that death is 
but a continuation of life and labor in higher planes. That is, 



408 THE WORLDS AND I 

higher planes if we build them while here by our thoughts and 
acts. 

These are the truths which are taught by psychical research 
and by communion with our dead. Enormous accumulations 
of facts have been obtained by an army of investigators all 
over the world ; greater revelations await us in the near future. 
Where of old the erratic, the unbalanced and the uneducated 
formed the rank and file of spiritual investigators, the work 
is now conducted by the most brilliant and highly endowed 
men and women of the day. It is no longer regarded as "for- 
tune telling" ; it is revelation. The dead live ! They do speak 
with the living ; he who seeks may find. But beware how you 
seek, and for what purpose! When the x-ray was first dis- 
covered, with all its revealing and healing powers, many rash 
physicians rushed blindly forward in their investigations with- 
out caution, or precaution, and suffered injury and death in 
consequence. Now, no such results come from the use of the 
rays. Science has placed it on an intelligent foundation; so 
with psychical research. \The rash, the curious, the ignorant, 
have often suffered from its dangers ; but science and religious 
devotion are together placing the study where it belongs. 
Only to lift the soul nearer to God, and to come more closely 
in contact with the spirits of our beloved ones, and to gain 
larger knowledge of the eternal laws of life everlasting, should 
we approach this holy work of psychical research. The effort 
to obtain communication with our dear dead should begin with 
prayer and supplication for light and guidance, followed by 
a season of quiet tranquil meditation on the Omnipotent Power 
who rules the universe, He of whom Christ our Elder Brother 
said, "Why call ye me good ? There is but one good, and that 
is our Father who art in Heaven/' 

From ten minutes to an hour should be given to 
our meditation at least once a day. When the mind is 
under the control of the will, and the thoughts are 
kept to the one subject of God, and His great uni- 
verse, we set vibrations in motion which make it possible 
for those who have left the body to approach us. In my hus- 



FROM FRANCE 409 

band's communications he has constantly urged me to give 
more time to meditation and to hold pencil and paper in readi- 
ness, SO' that when the vibratory force becomes strong enough 
he can direct messages through my hand alone. This power 
has not yet come to me alone but it has come to many of my 
acquaintances (people of as great intelligence and education 
as Mr. Brisbane) whose integrity cannot be questioned. 
Lady Blake, a woman of rare culture and wide education, lost 
her devoted husband, Sir Henry Blake, during the last year. 
The blow was almost crushing her great soul, and she wrote 
me letters of despairing anguish, which opened anew the still 
fresh wounds in my own heart. Then suddenly came a letter 
from Lady Blake, with a ringing note of triumph rising over 
the miserere of her former letters. A psychic friend, a lady 
in private life, had visited Lady Blake in her beautiful old 
home in Ireland and this friend had attained to the power of 
automatic writing. Messages came through this friend from 
Sir Henry Blake under such test conditions and containing 
such authentic messages that Lady Blake no longer questions 
the fact that her husband lives, and watches over her, with 
love intensified by his spiritual life. 

The following letter from Lady Blake she has kindly al- 
lowed me to give to the public : 

Myrtle Grove, Youghal, Ireland, July 3, 191 8. 
My dear Mrs. Wheeler Wilcox: I am quite willing that you 
should quote my name as a believer in the fact that our loved 
ones who have passed "behind the veil" can communicate with 
us. As you know, I have recently had the supreme anguish of 
losing my beloved husband. I felt that if indeed death were 
not the extinction of identity he who had so loved and cared 
for me would find means of giving some sign that he had not 
left me forever, and so save me from despair. Thank God, he 
has done so, and the communications I have received, as I believe 
from him, have been a ray of comfort in the dark night of my 
overwhelming sorrow. When on earth, my husband was greatly 
interested in occult subjects and had his life been spared intended 
studying them further. 

Believe me, yours affectionately, 

Edith Blake. 



410 THE WORLDS AND I 

Sir Oliver Lodge has given a great many books of scientific 
value to the world, but nothing to my thinking of such vast 
import to humanity as one small detail in his recent book, 
"Raymond: Life after Death." This detail is the incident 
which he describes wherein he received from the spirit world 
a message from his son Raymond, describing a photograph 
taken before his death. The negative of this photograph was 
found undeveloped several months after the message was re- 
ceived. A small incident, but coming from a great man who 
had devoted years to psychical research it is of enormous 
value to humanity. "Physical" science is of temporary impor- 
tance to the world, but "psychical" science, — the science prov- 
ing by incontrovertible facts that the soul lives on, loves on, 
and remembers those on earth after it leaves the body — that 
is the science which is eternal, indestructible, and everlasting. 

I speak of the things that I know to be, 
For my Spirit Lover has talked with me. 

Referring to the class of people known under the various 
names of mediums, clairvoyants, psychics and sensitives, the 
time will come when, instead of being punished by unjust 
laws, and persecuted by a cheap class of detectives, they will 
be studied and classified by science, and the wheat winnowed 
from the chaff. People born with this clear, open vision usual- 
ly display it in early life, and such children should be carefully 
protected and educated under wise masters as future aids to 
spiritual science. A little girl of eight years stopped in her 
playing one day, and said to her mother, "Papa has gone down 
in a hole in the street, but he is hanging by his hands." A little 
later she said, "Some one helped him. Papa is out." The 
mother rebuked her for foolish chatter, but a half hour later 
the father came home and reported that he had fallen through 
a manhole in the street, and had held himself by his hands until 
help arrived. The child, now a young woman in private life, 
still has this clairvoyant vision. Had she been trained by wise 
teachers, and learned the laws controlling this power, she might 
be of vast value to psychical research or to the students of 
theosophy to-day in explaining astral planes. As it is, she 



FROM FRANCE 411 

hides her powers from most people, because her family think 
her "queer," and she has become sensitive regarding her abil- 
ity to see occurrences at a distance, and to receive from people 
long dead messages which have startled the recipients on earth 
by their authenticity. 

These occult powers should never be used for material gain. 
So soon as they are, the individual possessing them attracts a 
low, undeveloped order of spirits who are earth bound, and 
both those spirits and the mediums are injured in consequence. 
/ To elevate ourselves to the state where lofty spirits dwell, not 
v to bring spirits down to our earth plane, should be our aim. 
Until that high state of development is attained, where mes- 
sages come direct to our minds from the disincarnate souls, 
we must lean on more material means for communication. It 
is the material nature in us, which compels the denizens of the 
spiritual world to use these material means. In several of 
his messages here in France, my husband has asked this curi- 
ous question, "Why do you not answer me?" or "Try and an- 
swer me." And when I begged for an explanation, his reply 
was, "You stop too soon in concentration." By this I under- 
stand that he is trying to impress directly on my mind what 
he has to communicate, and fails only because I do not attain 
to the high state of vibratory power, gained only in the silence, 
and in the complete tranquillity which permits such spiritual 
intercourse. Turbulent sorrow, unrestrained grief, rebellion 
toward death, non-resignation, all are obstacles to communi- 
cation, and so is scattered thought where the mind never holds 
to one resolute idea. In talking with Max Heindel, the leader 
of the Rosicrucian philosophy in California, he made very 
clear to me the effect of intense grief. Mr. Heindel had as- 
sured me that I would come in touch with the spirit of my 
husband when I learned to control my sorrow. I replied that 
it seemed strange to me that an omnipotent God could not 
send a flash of His light into a suffering soul to bring its con- 
viction when most needed. "Did you ever stand beside a clear 
pool of water," asked Mr. Heindel, "and see the trees and skies 
repeated therein? And did you ever cast a stone into that pool 
and see it clouded and turmoiled, so it gave no reflection? 



412 THE WORLDS AND I 

Yet the skies and trees were waiting above to be reflected when 
the waters grew calm. So God and your husband's spirit wait 
to show themselves to you when the turbulence of sorrow is 
quieted." And so, months afterward, it proved to be, and so 
will it be to every loving suffering heart that seeks without 
pausing, and prays without ceasing, for proof of the living 
dead. That proof will be given. For God and His great 
cabinet of archangels want the denizens of earth to come 
up higher and to know the glories that await them in Life 
Everlasting. The search may be surrounded with difficulties, 
and the way long, but the goal awaits those who have love 
enough, reverence enough, and patience enough to keep on un- 
til success crowns their efforts. 

For the ceaseless prayer of a soul is heeded, 

When the prayer asks only for light and faith, 

And the faith and the light, and the knowledge needed, 

Shall gild with glory the path to death. 

Oh heart of the world by sorrow shaken, 

Hear ye the message I have to give. 

The seal from the lips of the dead is taken, 

And they can say to you, "Lo, we live 1" 



EPILOGUE 

WHEN anaesthetics were first discovered the orthodox 
Church and the clergy loudly denounced their use, as 
opposed to God's assertion that women should bear children in 
pain and suffering. Many violent sermons were preached, de- 
claring the merciful anaesthetics were agents of the devil, and 
that those who employed them were defying God. 

N. A. Richardson, in "Industrial Problems," states that in 
Lancaster, Ohio, in 1828, the school board refused to permit 
the school house to be used for the discussion of the question 
of a proposed railroad. The old document reads as follows; 
"You are welcome to use the school house to debate all proper 
questions, but such things as railroads and telegraphs are im- 
possibilities and rank infidelity. There is nothing in the word 
of God about them. If God had designed that His intelligent 
creatures should travel at the frightful speed of fifteen miles 
an hour by steam, He would clearly have foretold it through 
His Holy Prophets. It is a device of Satan to lead immor- 
tal souls down to Hell." 

We laugh at these ideas to-day and we would laugh at the 
man who declared the use of electricity to be a sin. Imagine 
one so bigoted and so ignorant who would say, "If God had 
wanted man to employ such a power for the transmission of 
light, or messages, He would have placed it in his hands, and 
not made the discovery of it so difficult. God made sunlight 
for the day and moonlight for the night. He gave man his 
feet on which to run with messages. It is wicked and at vari- 
ance with God's wishes to use electric light or to send mes- 
sages by telephone or telegraph: the Holy Prophets did not 
foretell them. Whoever does these things is in league with 
the devil." Such words would be no more absurd and silly 
than the words of those who claim that God's secret of life 
beyond the grave should not be sought; and that no effort 

413 



414 THE WORLDS AND I 

at communication with those who have gone onward should 
be made because the means of that communication are not ob- 
tained without effort. 

Just as crude oil gave place to gas, and gas to electricity, so 
will a still more subtle source of light be discovered one of 
these days. God has no secrets He does not intend to share 
freely with human beings who are adventurous enough, rever- 
ent enough and patient enough to seek the way of knowledge, 

Man is an unawakened god; not one man, but every man. 
We are heirs to every thing in the vast universe. It is because 
the Great Creator wants us to search for these higher truths, 
and this glorious knowledge of life immortal and the wonder 
of sphere upon sphere rilled with super beings, that He is per- 
mitting the race to see the awful result of thinking only of 
material successes and earthly power and glory. The world 
war has prepared the minds of human beings as nothing be- 
fore ever prepared it for study of the worlds beyond. Never 
before was such a spiritual awakening on earth, and it has but 
begun. That study cannot and will not be confined to the 
creeds and dogmas of established churches. It will leap over 
hurdles and barriers set by the clergy, and soar into space, 
seeking its own trail to truth. And those whose minds are 
awake, whose souls are purified through suffering, whose 
hearts are cleansed of all selfishness and all earthly lusts and 
longings, will meet the spirits of their dear dead in the silence 
and be instructed by them. L. W. Rogers tells us that by a 
series of sustained efforts to live the highest life of which one 
is capable, it is possible to attain a level of consciousness 
where one has personal knowledge that the dead live. 
That is of course the highest road and the safest one to tread. 
But when we are suddenly separated from those who have 
been torn by death from our sight, touch and hearing, we are 
not possessed of the poise and strength to go through these 
scientific methods of development. As in times of great emer- 
gency, we cannot be content to write a letter in long hand and 
send it to India, and await an answer from a friend, but rush 
to the wireless operator and ask that our message be sent, so 
do we turn in the time of awful need to some more material 



EPILOGUE 415 

means of communication with our dead. A woman said to 
me: "I cannot imagine my husband needing a third person 
between him and me, or a material object like a Ouija Board 
or a table to bring messages. When he was on earth he did 
not do these things. Why should he in the spirit world ? He 
always came directly to me here. ,, "I think not always/' I re- 
plied. "When he was only a block away from you and needed 
to send a message he called up an operator to connect the tele- 
phone wires. He could not do this himself. He used the tele- 
graph operator and the wireless operator at other times to 
reach you. They may not have been people of education or 
culture: but they knew how to connect the wires and 

RENDER IT POSSIBLE FOR YOU AND YOUR HUSBAND TO COM- 
MUNICATE/' 

There is nothing more unreasonable or absurd in the use 
of a Ouija Board, a table, a planchette or a trained clair- 
voyant to afford our disembodied friends the power to trans- 
mit their messages than in the use of the wires and operators on 
earth. Death does not make souls omnipotent. Immortal life 
is a matter of slow growth toward greater power and knowl- 
edge. Freed from the physical body, souls are for many 
years in the astral body; and that body has its limitations. 
Upon etheric and vibratory conditions the possibility of 
transmitting messages from the astral to the physical world 
depends. An individual may be of an inferior type of mind 
and without knowledge on these subjects, he who produces the 
phenomenon which brings messages from the worlds beyond, 
or may be of the highest order of development. It is simply 
a matter of the right vibratory combination. 

The astral realm is filled with souls in all states of develop- 
ment, from the lowest to the highest ; and whoever seeks per- 
sistently for messages will receive them. But beware of seek- 
ing idly or without a high and holy purpose. Beware of seek- 
ing in mere curiosity or for knowledge of mere earth matters. 
The state of mind you take into your investigations will at- 
tract the same order of disembodied mind. Whoever ap- 
proaches this study with an idle, banal mind will receive idle 
and banal messages from the borderland. But it is an imper- 



416 THE WORLDS AND I 

tinence for such people to go forth and say that only such mes- 
sages are to be obtained. These statements are repeatedly 
made by individuals who have never gone more deeply into 
the matter than a visit to a fortune teller, or an hour spent 
with a rollicking party of friends experimenting with table 
tipping. 

There are just as many differing localities in the worlds be- 
yond as here on earth. When a ship lands its passengers at 
a dock in New York there are those who stay about the dock ; 
they are only fitted for its duties and its lodging rooms. There 
are others who pass on, to be lost in the slums and the under- 
world of the city until settlement workers or Salvation Army 
angels hunt them out and help them to better things. Others 
go on to the business localities ; to Wall street and the crowded 
places where the busy toilers are. Others go to upper Fifth 
Avenue and Riverside Drive, to homes of opulence and beauty. 
\ Precisely so do the voyagers on the ship of death scatter when 
the further shores are reached. But in that world it is not 
money, title or influence which decides the locality of the 
passenger. It is thought. The kind of thought which 
each one of us entertains in the mind, year in and year out, 
establishes our position in the world beyond. The frivolous, 
selfish voluptuary from Riverside Drive, suddenly called 
from the body, will find him or herself in the slums and un- 
derworld with very undesirable company in the astral realms : 
and all the death-bed repentance and holy ceremonies at the 
last moment cannot alter this situation immediately, or give 
the soul admission to higher planes until it works out its own 
salvation by a complete change of thought. The unselfish, 
pure-minded, God-loving, simple toiler, who has tried to do 
as he would be done by, and to return good for evil, will be 
happily surprised to find himself among the scenes of beauty 
he has starved for on earth, and given at once glimpses of the 
glories beyond — glories of which he has only dreamed in his 
earth life. 

I was told not long ago, by a friend opposed to this subject, 
that Edison did not believe in spiritual life. My friend seemed 
to think that was a conclusive argument. One might 



EPILOGUE 417 

as well quote him on music or sculpture, neither subject being 
familiar enough to him to render his opinion of value. 

Mere intellect or genius in some one direction does not make 
a man capable of speaking authoritatively on a matter which 
he has not deeply investigated. A great statesman, a great 
architect, a great writer, a great warrior, all would carry no 
weight in arguing about the worlds spiritual unless they had 
given serious and respectful and persistent study to the matter. 
Sir Oliver Lodge and Lombroso, while great men in the world 
of science, were not competent judges of this subject until 
they investigated. Mr. Bolton Hall said to me, "Why not live 
in one world at a time? If I am writing a book in English, 
would it not be wise to try and improve my English, rather 
than stop and attempt the study of the language of Hin- 
dustan?" 

"That is not a good simile," I answered. "Suppose your 
nearest and dearest ones had gone to Hindustan to live. They 
could not come back. You knew you were to go there and to 
remain a very long time. You knew you might be called any 
moment. Would it not seem sensible to give a portion of each 
day to the study of the language of Hindustan, and to learning 
all you could of the ways and habits of that land from reports 
oi those who had gone ahead ? You could still perform your 
duties while here : you could write your book in English, but 
you would be preparing meanwhile for a journey you knew 
you must take." 

But while we put ourselves in communion with the travel- 
ers who have gone on, we must learn to be as considerate of 
them as we would of our friends who have gone to foreign 
lands on some great commission. We would not think of 
writing or cabling to our nearest kin who had become an 
ambassador abroad, or who was holding a position in some 
college, to give us points on the market, or to advise us in our 
domestic affairs. We would feel his time too valuable for 
that. All our dead are in God's colleges, and we should ask of 
them only such help and information as would better prepare 
us to enter into their world and help us to rise above petty 
ideals while here. 



418 THE WORLDS AND I 

Nor should we too long and too persistently seek even this 
direct assistance from them. Once positively convinced of 
their identity and their continued life and love, we should be 
considerate of their highest good, and not demand too much 
of their time and attention. Such demands delay them and 
weaken us. Just as it may help and comfort and increase the 
happiness of a disembodied soul to have communion with 
those left behind for a time, so it may hinder a soul's prog- 
ress, if we cling too persistently to it, and demand its con- 
tinual ministrations: as a college junior, striving to pass his 
examinations so that he might enter the senior class, would be 
delayed if his brothers and sisters at home were constantly 
asking him for answers to their own primary school problems. 

In the very instructive book by L. W. Rogers, ''Elementary 
Theosophy," he speaks of this point and illustrates it by the 
story of the woman of Endor who, at the request of Saul, ob- 
tained communication with the spirit of Samuel and advice 
about the impending battle. Samuel's first words were, "Saul, 
why hast thou disquieted me, to bring me up?" The dead 
king was studying things more spiritual than the wars of earth, 
and did not want to be disturbed. Let us remember this in- 
cident when we approach our dead, and ask only of the things 
which pertain to the growth of the spirit. 

Out of these messages which I have received under condi- 
tions and through people who are above suspicion, the follow- 
ing convictions are indelibly impressed upon my mind : 

i — Reincarnation in many forms and bodies, from the min- 
eral to the mortal being, is a scientific fact. The divine spirit 
of the Logos-God enters into all things and exists always, 
and when all experiences have been obtained in various forms, 
and through all sorrows and joys, we return home again, once 
more pure Spirit. 

2 — Death is only a doorway to a larger life and does not 
destroy memory or affection or personal characteristics. Death 
ushers each soul into the place and plane it has made for 
itself while on earth by the nature and habit of its thoughts. 

3 — The fact that we have belonged to some church and sub- 
scribed to some creed and belief will not help us in the least 



EPILOGUE 419 

to find the heavenly planes after death unless our thoughts 
have been heavenly with love and sympathy for our fellow 
men. Only by changing our thoughts can we change our plane 
of consciousness. 

5 — Just as on earth Salvation Army and other helpers are 
sent to those in need of light, so will messengers of God come 
to those after death who need to be helped upward and on- 
ward. It will aid such souls to pray for them after they have 
left the body. 

6 — Christ is the latest and greatest of the masters who have 
been sent by the One whom He called "The Father" to en- 
lighten and uplift the race. He rules the spheres belonging 
to the Christian era. There are other chains of spheres gov- 
erned by other great spirits. 

7 — Death does not admit a soul, however pure, at once into 
the presence of Christ. All must first pass through many 
planes, and be purged of all earthly desires, before they can 
reach the high vibratory state which enables them to enter the 
Christ realm. 

Back of all the spheres, at the center of all things, is the 
Solar Logos — God — from whom all the universe proceeds. In 
the immensity of space are vast heaven worlds, filled with 
spirits in various states of development from the earth-bound 
souls to the great archangels — all bent on returning to the 
source eventually and becoming "one with God." A wise 
teacher has said truly, "Orderly gradation is Nature's method 
of expression. Just as a continuous chain of life runs down 
from man, so also it must rise above him until it merges into 
the Supreme Being. Man is merely one link in the evolutionary 
chain." And Alfred Russel Wallace, who was called the 
grand old man of science, said, "I think we have got to rec- 
ognize that between man and God there is an almost infinite 
multitude of beings, working in the universe at large at tasks 
as definite and important as any we have to perform. I im- 
agine the universe is peopled with spirits, intelligent beings, 
with duties and powers vaster than our own. I think there is 
a spiritual ascent from man upward and onward." 

And from this mighty storehouse we may gather wisdom 



420 THE WORLDS AND I 

and knowledge and receive light and power, as we pass through 
this preparatory room of earth, which is only one of the in- 
numerable mansions in our Father's house. 

Think on these things. 



Few lives are so full of incident and romance 
that they lend themselves to interesting por- 
trayal in pictures. These photographs, the 
accumulation of adventurous years at home and 
abroad, present in a unique and appealing way 
the chief events of Mrs. Wilcox's life to the 
beginning of 1919. 




It was here that Ella Wheeler was born, and here she lived until her marriage. Her 
first attempts at writing were made in order to win comforts for her family, and 
she was overjoyed when she was at last able to remodel the old homestead. 





It is to the prenatal influence exerted 
upon her by her mother that Mrs. Wil- 
cox ascribes her literary career. "My 
child will be a girl," declared Mrs. 
Wheeler; "and she will be a writer." So, 
for months before her daughter's birth, 
she committed to memory many books of 
poetry. 



Her father had moved to Wisconsin from 
Vermont, where he had been a teacher 
of music, dancing, and deportment. It 
was not surprising that his efforts at 
farming were far from successful and 
that he again was forced to teach danc- 
ing to replenish the family purse. 




At this school, where little Ella studied from the time she was eight until she 
was fourteen, she was regarded as a child prodigy. "Composition Day," the bug-bear 
of most of the scholars, was to her a delight. 










feve&.dfti fcueA h*h &t& wit 



At the age of nine she had written a novel in ten chapters, called "Minnie Tighthand 
and Mrs. Dunley." It was printed by her childish hand on chance scraps of paper and 
bound in paper torn from the kitchen wall. 




2^^P?£c^^ 



«^ 



/ o , 



Here is the little writer, just ten years old. In her serious face one can read the de- 
termination that was to cany her on to fame and fortune. 



'^PSPW^S 













/■ 





It was when she was only fifteen that she first appeared in print through prose 
essays published in the New York Mercury. Her verses were the subject of ridicule 
by its editor who "trusted that she would never again attempt poetic expression," 







H 




Crushed only temporarily, the little poet continued to bombard magazines with her 
verses. She grew so accustomed to "respectfully declined" enclosures that when Frank 
Leslie's Magazine sent her a check for forty dollars, she almost had a nervous shock. 



After a short and not very happy term at Madison 
University, where her family had made great sacri- 
fices to send her, she begged to be allowed to stay at 
home and write. But life was not all work, and the 
country dances, held at "Miller's Hall," were to Ella, 
at sixteen, brilliant functions. 




With constantly increasing success, her 
world grew larger at every sunrise. People 
from Madison, Milwaukee, and Chicago 
began to seek out the little country girl 
with the inspired pen; and to visit their 
city homes was to her a delight bordering 
upon ecstasy. 





By 1880, the "Milwaukee 
School of Poetry" was at 
its height, and Ella Wheeler 
was its shining light. Her 
first verses to be read in 
public were written for a 
Decoration Day celebration 
in Madison. 





The publication of "Mau- 
rine" served to bring her in- 
to prominence; but "Poems 
of Passion" caused the name 
of Ella Wheeler to rever- 
berate from one end of the 
land to the other, 



Her romantic temperament had impelled her to 
imagine herself the heroine of many sentimental ex- 
periences, but when the compelling lover who was 
to dominate her life appeared, no tremors gave her 
warning of his presence. Here she is in the costume 
she wore on that fateful occasion, 




Ella Wheeler at the time of her marriage to Robert Wileox, whom she met by 
chance while visiting in Milwaukee. They were both attracted from the first and the 
correspondence which followed served to heighten friendship into love. They were 
married in a year from the time they met. 




Mr. Wilcox's business affairs took them to Meriden, Connecticut. This is the house 
on Colony Street, where they spent the first three years of their married life. The 
house is just as it was then except for the flags which decorated it for a celebration. 




But their first real home was the little New York apartment, which soon 
became a center for the most distinguished figures in the literary circles 
of the period. Here is Ella Wheeler Wilcox as she looked in those intoxi- 
cating days of congenial society. 



XrW ■■' v,m.?a x^K%^ -^ ^%r- W> - : ^:vV^ 








I 




This is the gown she wore when she recited "The Birth of the 
Opal" at Mrs. Frank Leslie's salon. She tells us that it was 
her one and only attempt at recitation in public, and that she 
was convulsed with mirth when an imitation of it was given 
later. 




In 1889. 




In 1894. 





In 1902. 




In 1907. 




^^c-^ ^^^^ x^<^ : 



^f> 



In 1913. 




In 1916. 




In 1890, Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox fell in love at first sight with Short-Beach-on-the- 
Sound, on beautiful Granite Bay, and there, that summer, they built "The Bunga- 
low," perched high on the pink rocks above the water. The next year "The Barracks," 
as they christened the living house, was built close by. Gradually the months in New 
York grew shorter, and longer and longer the season at the shore. 




To them here came many friends to revel in the outdoor life and in the cheer and 
good fellowship within. One day when Theodosia Garrison and Rhoda Hero Dunn 
were visiting Ella Wheeler Wilcox, an enterprising photographer captured the three 
poets and posed them on the sea-wall. 




For fifteen years there was an annual Bungalow Costume Ball. In this flashlight, 
Mrs. Wilcox is shown as "Princess White Wings," the name bestowed upon her by 
the Sioux Indians she met at the Pan-American Exposition and by whom she was 
adopted into the tribe. 




Many winters were spent in travel, and everywhere people delighted to honor their 
distinguished guests. In England a window display devoted to Mrs. Wilcox's books 
shows a photograph of her in the costume in which she was presented at the Court 
of St. James. 




One of their happiest winters was spent in Jamaica, where they saw a great deal of 
Jack London and his wife, Charmian. This is a snapshot of -them taken on the porch 
of the Hotel Tichfield, San Antonio, in 1909. 




Mrs. Wilcox is a talented musician, and her mandolin always accompanied them. 
During her travels in Africa and India she learned to play many native airs upon it. 



1, 




At Salt Lake City. Ella Wheeler Wilcox with a group of Mormon ladies and an Elder. 




.'Luther Burbank and Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 




In Africa. Mrs. Wilcox with her man- Before a great cathedral, 
dolin. 




In Tunis at the Gate of the Bey— April, At Tiblis. 
1913. 





At Tiblis. 



In Sicily. Ella Wheeler Wilcox with her 
godchild. 




In India. 




In Jamaica. 




In 1913 they decided to settle down after their ten years' roaming. Never had "The 
Bungalow" seemed more inviting, and happy were the days spent there in work 
and in play. Here is Mrs. Wilcox reading in "the cabin," surrounded by some of 
her trophies of travel. 



Swimming had always been a joy 
to Mrs. Wilcox, though in her 
youth it was regarded by her 
mother as anything but a ladylike 
accomplishment, and she had had 
to indulge in it surreptitiously. 
She is shown here taking a sun- 
bath after a recent swim. She says 
that she rejoiced as much after 
learning a new stroke as after find- 
ing a new metre. 





Domestic pets were welcomed at their fireside. Cats had always been wonderful 
companions to Mrs. Wilcox and even as a child she had found dolls cold and un- 
responsive when compared with kittens or puppies. 




Into this contented life, tragedy entered when Robert Wilcox passed from this earth 
on May 21st, 1916, after thirty-two years of marriage made radiant by mutual de- 
votion. This picture shows Mr. Wilcox in 1912. 




It was on September 10th of the following year that, after months of unceasing- 
struggle to win a message from the void, Mrs. Wilcox had the ineffable happiness 
of an undoubted communication from his spirit through the medium of the Ouiia 
Board. Told a little later to go to France, she sailed on February 17th, 1918. 



T*~ 







Here she is in the courtyard of an old French chateau, surrounded by her fellow - 
workers and by the soldiers into whose lives she was able to bring happiness. She 
is still receiving wonderful communications from the husband who has been hers 
through many incarnations, as his messages from beyond the grave have proved to 
her complete satisfaction. 



n 






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